


Something Wicked: Season One

by TCRegan



Series: Something Wicked [1]
Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, M/M, Supernatural Elements, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-10-02
Packaged: 2018-04-08 02:58:37
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 24
Words: 51,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288170
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TCRegan/pseuds/TCRegan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke and Fenris are hunters, searching Thedas guided by a mysterious voice on the other side of a magical runestone. Taking odd jobs to improve the lives of their fellow Thedosians, they're reassigned to hunt for a deranged magister who's been reanimating corpses and wreaking havoc across the land. Their travels lead them into meeting various others, making friends and enemies alike. Their goal is to stop the magister before his nefarious plans can come to fruition.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Love Bites, Act 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [theangrywarlock](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrywarlock/gifts).



> Acknowledgements:
> 
> To [Vee](http://archiveofourown.org/users/theangrywarlock/pseuds/theangrywarlock), without whom this would not be possible. She wrote literally the entire outline for me, gave me the ideas, and kept me going. I know I constantly say that she's the reason I produce so much, and at the level of quality that I've come to expect from myself. She forces me every day to be better than I was before, and I could not have done any of this without her. Also, she titled 99% of the episodes. Happy Anniversary, love.
> 
> Additional nods of thanks to [DearSeptember](http://archiveofourown.org/users/DearSeptember) and [cruelest_month](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cruelest_month/pseuds/cruelest_month) for being always supportive of me.
> 
> Illustrations done by [Besteck](http://fanartdrawer.tumblr.com/), used with permission.
> 
> -
> 
> Work Notes!
> 
> This is going to be structured into three "seasons" (parts) with multiple episodes per season. Every episode is three acts long, though some episodes have a 'to be continued' feel. Every episode will have its own title, illustrated by Besteck. Sounds more complicated than it is, I promise. 
> 
> To be updated on a weekly (or more frequent) basis. As always, comments, feedback, and constructive criticism is welcome!
> 
> Enjoy!
> 
> -

Blood.

The stench of death and decay. He wrinkled his nose against it. Thick and sweet and foul. The closer they got to the coven they hunted, the stronger the scent. It made him sick. But it always made him sick. Blood magic. Mages who resorted to the darkest arcane arts, who always sought more power without thought of anything but themselves. He would tear their still-beating hearts from their chests; revel in the look of surprise on their faces when they realized what happened. Just a few seconds and then they die.

A gentle but firm hand touched the top of his head, and he stilled. He'd been pawing the cold ground, the night frost not yet melted. They would need stealth and silence for this hunt, and he was doing them no favors by letting his rage get the better of him. Having suffered at the hands of both slavers and blood mages, he took immense pleasure in hunting them down and destroying them. But they were on a special mission this time. It wasn't about personal indulgences right now, and Hawke's fingers idly stroking his fur reminded him to stay calm.

Hawke. An anomaly of a human, and one of the best men he'd ever met. Selfless, but arrogant, tactless, and rude, he put others before himself. A rare trait in a mage. Hawke taught him how to hunt, and they'd been together a long time now, working as part of a network to rid Thedas of those that would see it destroyed. And there were a lot of threats. Even more so of late, it seemed.

Hawke pulled a small stone from his pocket, a bit larger than his palm, and flat, with a special rune inscribed on it. A gift from his father, who was also a hunter and a capable mage to hear Hawke speak of him. Fenris never met Malcolm, but he thought he would have liked him. Hawke swiped his thumb over it, checking the last communications they received. A dark cloud of shadow emerged, two pinpricks like eyes in the middle, and a voice with a strange accent reiterated the same instructions that Fenris committed to memory. They would find information leading them to their next quarry in the Vimmark Mountains. Unfortunately, the Vimmarks stretched nearly the entire length of the Free Marches, bordering them on the south, cutting off important port cities like Kirkwall and Ostwick.

Fenris bristled. Traveling for weeks in the Free Marches was marginally better than Tevinter, but it still stank of slavers and blood mages. The caves along the mountain range were soaked with the blood of slaves - elves and humans alike. Fenris recoiled at the memory of it, his dreams haunted by the atrocities in his past. And there was only really one person he wanted to answer for it. But Danarius was always just out of reach. If he could tear his old master's throat out today, he would be satisfied.

But would he continue to hunt? He stayed with Hawke because he felt he owed him for his help. No, that wasn't right. He _joined_ Hawke because he felt he owed him. He stayed with him because he was a good man. A good human. Fenris hadn't met many of those. And none that he could call friend. Irritated, tired of the waiting, he transformed back into his elven form. In the beginning, it was a slow, painful, and arduous process. His limbs lengthening or shortening, the fur growing or receding, his jaw feeling broken in a dozen places. But he'd gotten so used to it, using his lyrium lines to shift into his wolf form and back hundreds – perhaps even thousands – of times, he no longer felt the pain it used to cause him. Fortunately, he'd learned how to shift with his clothing, the cloth weaved with magical thread, lyrium sewn into the fabric just like his skin. And a bag for his possessions, though small, could shift as well.

His former master (and Danarius never truly left his thoughts, though lately he was closer to the surface than usual) trained him to wield a two-handed greatsword, and no matter how hard he tried, he wasn't able to shift with the weapon. Hawke proposed the solution to this. Concealed in his staff was a blade of red steel. Imbued with elemental runes, it leeched magic from the staff, and likely from Hawke. But he never complained, and he rarely had the need for lyrium to replenish his mana. Fenris admired his resolve, and worked hard to match his stamina whether in fighting or in training.

"We should be seeing them cross through these paths," Hawke said, keeping his eyes out over the cliff.

Fenris snorted, sitting cross-legged in the grass. The cliff was a rolling drop, one you could likely survive if you fell, if you knew how to land properly and avoided the jagged rocks on the way down. The band of blood mages they'd been tracking for days had information on another mage. A very powerful one who was said to be reanimating the dead. While necromancy was common in some areas, the practice was a licensed one. Trained mages worked in schools for a long time, and poured money into the arts. In Nevarra, they had a Night of the Living Dead where corpses would dance in the street, painted and decorated in brilliant colors. Of course, the loved ones of those who passed had to give their permission for this, and he understood that most did so quite happily.

The mage, whoever he was, certainly didn't have a license, and he definitely wasn't obtaining permission to rob graves and crypts for his nefarious purposes. RTD , as most hunters had taken to calling him, was like a ghost. Even his followers weren't sure of his true identity. Which meant he was paranoid. A paranoid, psychopathic, blood mage necromancer. Fenris couldn't wait to rip his heart from his chest. The blood mage coven would hopefully give them the answers they were looking for. And if Hawke promised to let them live, then went back on it, well, Fenris wasn't going to argue.

"We should seek out Danarius," Fenris muttered.

It was an age old argument that they had nearly every week, more frequently of late now that the anniversary of Fenris's escape was approaching. Three years and he grew more irritated by the day that he couldn't find his former master in order to properly thank him for the lyrium brands. Hawke, who was used to this by now, merely pulled an apple from his bag and dropped it into Fenris's lap. Fenris scowled, but bit into it savagely.

"Another hour and we'll move further down the ridge. You said you smelled them this way."

"This entire range reeks of death, Hawke," Fenris said around the bite of apple. He chewed, then swallowed. "But this spot smelled the freshest."

"…Gross. But all right." Hawke sat down next to him and pulled out another apple for himself. "Another hour, then we'll move. If we don't see anything by sun up, we'll make camp."

Fenris finished his apple and tossed the core down the cliff, watching it in the dim moonlight as it bounced off rocks and came to a halt near the base. "You continue to check the runestone."

"I like the way the man's voice sounds."

That was another thing Fenris learned to get used to. Hawke had a horrible sense of humor. Sometimes it was dark, other times it was simply… bad. And he seemed to have something to say about everything. Sometimes it was welcome, other times – like now – it was exceedingly annoying.

"And the real answer?"

"I just want to make sure there's nothing we missed. He doesn't contact often."

"You don't even know who he is."

Hawke shrugged. "It was good enough for my father, it's good enough for me."

Fenris knew that was the end of the conversation. Whenever the Wise Words of Malcolm Hawke were invoked, the argument was finished. As irritating as it was sometimes, mostly it simply made Fenris jealous. He longed for a father figure, someone like Malcolm who could have guided him through the years he was lost. But he would settle for Hawke, who in all the time they spent together, became something of a brother to him. They fought like siblings, or so he was led to believe, and they would defend one another to death.

He transformed again, shifting bone and muscle, shaggy silver fur with glowing green eyes. While corporeal now, he could phase in this form as easily as he could in his elven one. However, while bluish-white and still quite visible as an elf, as a wolf he appeared as transparent as mist. A true lyrium ghost, Fen'Elgar, the Spirit Wolf. The rumors circulating the Free Marches were still quite new and sparse; he quite liked the idea of becoming a legend across Thedas. Hawke, the great hunter, and his deadly companion.

Hawke rested his hand atop his head and pet him idly, something he used to hate, but had grown quite fond of. He settled down, eyes focused on the base of the cliff, breathing slowly. They would come. And when they did, they would get their answers.

-

The wind shifted. He was dozing, Hawke keeping watch, but that subtle change in weather brought the scent to him and he was immediately on his feet, hackles raised. Hawke grabbed his staff from the ground, moving to his knees, and Fenris made a quiet wuffling noise, pawing the ground gently.

"The west. All right," Hawke whispered.

He settled his staff on Fenris's back, parallel to the ground, balancing it, holding the edge. Fenris felt the magic thrumming through the metal. Normally cold to the touch, it was almost hot against his fur, but he didn't move, letting Hawke use him for balance, getting the line of sight just right. He bent his legs, lowering it a mere inch. Though Hawke had an eye for distances, he was only human. Even in his elven form, Fenris could see better in the dark. In his wolf form? It might as well be high noon. He braced himself, his markings flaring, pulling him toward the Fade as the spell surged forth from the tip. In the distance, Fenris heard the startled cry of four mages – no, five – as they became locked in a static prison. Hawke stood, clicked his tongue, and Fenris took off, racing down the mountainside. Five blood mages would be no match for himself and Hawke, but they needed these alive for the information they carried.

He hoped Hawke would let him tear their throats out after.

The mages were panicking, the silver cage around them shimmering in the moonlight. They tried to break the magical bars of electric energy, shooting spell after spell against it. The bars held. Hawke knew his magic, and he knew it better than any mage Fenris had ever met. And he'd met a lot of mages. A hazard of being a slave in Tevinter. The mages startled when they saw him, and he pulled himself up to his full height, nearly as tall as a mortal man's chest. Hawke once made a quip that he could potentially ride Fenris into battle if he needed to. Fenris responded with a very unenthusiastic glare.

"Maker's breath," one of them whispered.

_Speaking of breath,_ Fenris thought, recoiling. His unease turned into a growl. _Vampires._

Some blood mages didn't stop at merely bleeding their slaves. Others went so far as to change their own physiology in order to drink the blood to further augment their powers. He smelled it on their breath, saw the sharp fangs in the light of the silvery magic. Of all the blood mages, the vampires were the worst, just shy of being full-blown cannibals. And they were powerful. Blood as a base for any magic meant power, but it was an anathema to most magic. Even the darker arts, some of which Hawke practiced. But not blood. Never blood.

"Aren't you just the sorriest lot of fuckers I've ever seen," Hawke said, who'd finally made his descent. He gently touched the top of Fenris's head before stepping forward, peering through the bars. "All right. I'll give you one chance," he said to the tallest one. "A little bird told me that you had information about the magister who's been reanimating corpses without a license. Where is he, and why is he amassing an army of the undead?"

"I know who you are!" one of them shouted suddenly. "Hawke! You're Hawke. I'm not telling you anythi-"

Fenris approached the cage, growling. The mage backed up immediately, tripping over his friend, and fell to the ground. The acrid scent of urine hit Fenris's nostrils, and the growl turned into a wolfish grin. They were terrified, they were all terrified. Whether of him or Hawke or both, he didn't know. And it didn't matter. These men didn't deserve to live. He looked at Hawke as if to say, 'Better hurry or you won't be able to get _any_ information from them.'

Hawke nodded. "Right." He hung his head a moment, thinking, then looked up quickly. "The first person to give me information on RTD gets to avoid a horrible, agonizingly long death!" And he said it with a smile.

Three of the mages stepped forward at once, a cacophony of babble as they tried to give Hawke the information he sought. Hawke sighed, hands on his hips as he looked them over. Fenris, meanwhile, stalked the edges of the cage, keeping a wary eye on all of them. He growled warningly when one reached his hand into his robes. A jet of flame hit the mage on the arm and he flailed, trying to put it out quickly. Hawke shook his hands, his fingerless leather gloves slightly singed.

"I don't think we're going to get any more information from them. Fenris, that one's yours."

It was all the warning he got before the barrier dropped. Grinning, Fenris leapt on the mage who dared try to attack them. The screams echoing in the darkness silenced as his jaws clamped down over the soft flesh of the mage's throat. He tasted the warm, sweet blood as it flowed into his mouth and over his tongue, staining his fur.

Hunting with Hawke was always fun.


	2. Love Bites, Act 2

The icy water splashed over him, causing him to shiver violently.

"You could heat it up!" Fenris hissed, trying to stay quiet.

They were just outside the inn where they decided to stop for the night. Fenris, covered in blood all down his chest and arms from his attack on the mages, would make an awful sight in their pre-dawn entrance into the shabby tavern.

"If you weren't so set on creating as much carnage as possible-"

"It is a warning for the next group."

Fenris pulled off his shirt and shoved it into his pack. He would have to wash it later. They would accept him shirtless or not at all. He simply couldn't take any more of the freezing cold water from the horse trough. Hair dripping, but free of blood now thanks to Hawke's diligent fingers, Fenris followed his companion into the tavern. The first floor comprised one room with a fire pit in the middle, a staircase leading up to the bedrooms, and a bar. Another set of steps led presumably down to a basement storage area, perhaps the kitchens. Though more likely the food was simply cooked right in the fire pit, cold at the moment.

"Breakfast?" The owner was a grey-haired and tired looking woman who was taking down chairs.

Hawke started helping her. "Whatever you have that's hot, and two rooms if they're available. My friend and I have been traveling all night."

She looked Fenris over, and if his state of undress unnerved her, she didn't show it. "Got two singles open. End of the hall. I'll bring up a tray."

Hawke took a purse from the pouch on his belt and fished out a gold sovereign, holding it up questioningly. She raised an eyebrow, took it, bit it, then slid it into her apron.

"Fresh milk, too," she added and gestured them up the stairs.

Fenris followed Hawke, stretching out his shoulders as they climbed. His muscles were sore and stiff, and a hot bath wouldn't go amiss. But this small of an establishment in a one-horse town would likely not have comfortable accommodations, if any at all. He would have to wait until they were in a city again, perhaps Kirkwall to stop in at Hawke's mansion to rest and recuperate for a few days before they set off again. The mages weren't their last hope in finding out information on RTD, but it was a dead end. A brick wall at the end of a long path that led them to no more information than they had in the beginning.

"Night," Hawke muttered, clomping into a room.

Fenris grunted a response and slid into his own. It was big enough to fit a single bed and a night stand, with room at the foot for his pack which he tossed haphazardly to the floor. He missed the days before the whispers of a mad magister reanimating the dead. Not that those days were any easier, but at the end of them, it was much less depressing than collapsing bonelessly to a thin mattress. Which was what he did now. Not that he wanted to reduce their relationship to those you found in five-copper detective novels, but it was close. Going from city to city, directed by a mysterious man on the other side of Hawke's runestone, they hunted the unnatural. Blood mages, vampires, even a ghost one time, though that turned out to be an insane Bann in a bed sheet. Lately all their energy was focused on finding information about RTD, and it was draining, especially when every turn had them at loose ends.

His light dozing was interrupted by a knock on the door, and he answered, thanking the old lady for the tray of porridge and milk. He shut and latched the door, sitting down to the meagre meal when he realized his stomach was growling. Nearly a week on the road to hunt the blood mages and they'd been living off rations. Certainly nothing warm, except what Hawke could heat with his magefire. Creating camp with any kind of actual fire would blow their surveillance cover, and while Fenris could take down a full sized stag, eating in his wolf form didn't satiate him the way a good meal in his elven form could. The porridge was thick, chunks of fruit chopped up with grated cinnamon, and it was hot. Just what he needed. The milk was fresh and sweet, he tasted the honey behind it, and drank every last drop. Placing the tray outside the door, he returned to bed, pulling off his leather boots.

He stared at them, looking at the silvery thread that held the pieces together, the thick soles and the strong, mud-caked laces. For a long time, he went without. What did a slave need shoes for anyway? Then when he learned how to shift faster but without clothing, it was more of a nuisance to keep them on. After he, Hawke, and Hawke's sister Bethany developed a way to make the leather and cloth shift with him, there was no reason not to wear them anymore. Even after all this time he wasn't entirely used to them. Still, they were a gift, and he wouldn't turn them down. He liked Hawke's sister. She was content to stay in Kirkwall, managing her brother's affairs. It was a hard life for a mage in Thedas, at least outside the Imperium. While no longer prisoners of the Chantry once Harrowed, they were on their own. Bethany at least had her name, a title, position, and coin. And her brother's protection.

Well, both brothers, but for as often as Carver visited her or even wrote, she might as well only have Hawke.

Thinking about the complexities of family life, he stretched out on the mattress, and fell asleep.

-

Hawke was half dozing, half awake, the book on his chest dipping every so often. His head swam with the day's earlier victory, though there was still the annoying disappointment of not finding out any information. Which meant they would have to backtrack on the trail and… 

"Hngh."

It was no use thinking about it when he was half-asleep. No doubt he would receive more instructions from the mystery man on the runestone. He hated when Fenris asked him about it. He couldn't describe how the magic worked, only that he knew the information was never wrong. Vague sometimes, but never wrong. His father passed it on to him. He remembered going on a few jobs with Malcolm in his youth, Carver being anxious to come but too young to go. It began and continued to foster the growing resentment between them. And after Malcolm died, he left the stone to Hawke, not Carver. Oh and that Hawke was referred to by their last name was a constant point of contention as well. He couldn't help it if Malcolm's friends had all started calling him, "Little Hawke" and it just stuck into his teenage years. Of course the "Little" was dropped when he filled out, and only a few referred to him by that name, ironically and affectionately so.

But the runestone… it was never explained to him. While he was taught to question everything – Malcolm trained him incessantly against demonic possession – this was one thing that his father preferred him to take on faith. As Malcolm rarely asked him to do that, Hawke was willing to give him this one thing. But it was still irritating, the disembodied voice mysterious and frustrating at times. Again though, it was never wrong. Lately he wanted to try to find whoever it was on the other side to ask for more help. He was embarrassed to admit to himself that the man became something of a surrogate father to him after Malcolm died, and he enjoyed the praise for a job well done. Of course he took the berating in stride. He wanted to get better with his hunting, especially after losing his mother to a mad blood mage… and weren't they all?

The air shifted. For a moment he thought Fenris entered the room, bringing with him his own brand of magic. And there was an odd duck if he'd ever met one. But after three years of working with the surly elf, they came to a mutual understanding, and a fast friendship. He couldn't imagine going anywhere without Fenris, and Fenris became more of a brother to him than Carver ever had. But a glance at the door showed it was still latched, and Hawke felt a heavy weight on his chest that had nothing to do with the drowsy feeling creeping into his brain.

"Who's there?"

A woman's laughter, soft and smooth like melted chocolate. Hawke recognized the sound, or rather he'd read about what the laugh sounded like and had often imagined it. Hearing it now for the first time, he knew he wouldn't ever forget it. The noise went straight to his cock, more powerful than any aphrodisiac. He faced desire demons before, but they weren't always about sex. Succubi were. Nothing could have prepared him for what came next. A woman, statuesque and simply gorgeous, stepped out from thin air. Her chin length black hair was sleek and shiny, her eyes like shining sapphires in the dim light of the candle, which flickered out with a whisper.

Hawke pulled himself up, limbs feeling weak as if he was locked in a Fade dream, but he knew that this was real. Propped against the headboard, he watched her move, a torturously slow dance as she dragged her hands from her thighs upward toward her chest. Dressed in a pair of red silken panties and a loose shirt, Hawke knew he was in trouble. Desire demons tried to mimic what they thought you wanted, scantily clad women in a corset and stockings, or nipple tassels. This sleepy, sexy look was more Hawke's taste. Her fingers played at the hem of her shirt, pulling it up teasingly to reveal a slip of her flat stomach before letting it go.

"Do you want it?" she asked.

His mouth dry, Hawke tried not to nod, but he felt caught in her dance, hips swiveling slowly as she approached the bed, crawling over him. Hawke's traitorous hands moved on their own, disobeying his brain as he held her hips. She smiled and nuzzled his neck, and his thumbs hooked into the thin, delicate elastic of her smalls. He pulled them down, then gripped her thighs. Swallowing hard, he waited, and she pushed back toward his hand.

"Go on, lover," she whispered. "You know you want to."

Cock hard, brain fuzzed, a voice in the back of his mind screaming to stop, he ran a finger through her folds, finding her clit. She was wet, ready for him with little to no foreplay, and the voice again told him that this was stupid, that she was going to kill him the second he came.

 _But what a way to go,_ he thought as she kissed him.

She rocked her hips back, and Hawke slid a finger inside her, then another. Her tongue pressed against his as she fucked herself on his hand, and Hawke's cock begged for attention. Thankfully, the door banged open, the latch splintering. Hawke, still paralyzed from the succubus's hold, could only see Fenris from his peripheral vision.

"Little help!"

The help was more than little. Fenris barreled into the succubus, knocking her to the wall. Hawke felt her charms triple in power and nearly came in his pants, but Fenris appeared wholly unaffected by it. His fingers, lined with lyrium, wrapped around her delicate throat and squeezed.

"Fenris! Stop!"

"Give me a reason," he snarled, as she clawed at his arms, leaving thin scratches that opened his skin, rivulets of blood dripping onto the sheets.

"She might have information."

"She is Danarius's minion." But Fenris eased up just a little, allowing her to breathe. "Release the hold you have on my friend, witch."

Hawke felt his mind clear and he could move once more. He flicked his palm out, a silvery shining shield enveloping the succubus at once, and Fenris, satisfied that she was subdued, moved away from the bed. Hawke waved his hand, pulling her upright with a spell.

"For Andraste's sake, pull your smalls up." He loosened the spell only a little so she could do that, and he surreptitiously wiped his fingers on the blanket.

"Hadriana," Fenris informed him.

Hawke's eyes narrowed. He'd heard about Hadriana from Fenris, one of his tormentors under Danarius. "All right. You're going to tell us why you're here. Or I'm going to let Fenris kill you."

She laughed. "This isn't my physical form. What you've locked away is merely a vision of myself. A specter sent to test the waters."

"Find some other seas to sail," Hawke quipped, feeling dirty. "What do you want?"

"To offer you a deal."

"No."

"Fenris, let her talk. We hear it, doesn't mean we have to take it."

Fenris glared, but Hawke gestured for Hadriana to continue.

"If you bring the two-face man to my lair, my master will reward you with information on the mage who's been raising the dead."

"Danarius would never honor that deal," Fenris interrupted.

She smirked. "It's the only lead you have. I'm in the slaver caves on the Coast. Your pet can sniff me out. Come soon, _Lover_."

She faded from sight, breaking the holding spell, and Hawke sighed.

"Thanks for the assist," he muttered to Fenris.

"Of course. Are we going to look into this two-face man?"

Hawke started packing his things. He wouldn't get any more sleep tonight. "Eventually."

Fenris's lips curled back into a grin. "So we leave soon?"

"Sooner than later," Hawke agreed, gesturing for Fenris's arms. "You ready to kill a succubus?"

"Gladly." Fenris stretched his bleeding arms out for Hawke to wrap them in elfroot poultices and bandage them up.

"Hey," Hawke asked after it was done, picking up his bag and staff. "How did you know I was in trouble?"

Fenris smirked. "I heard a woman in your room. I knew something was odd."

"…You're a true friend, Fenris." He muttered, 'Asshole' under his breath, and followed Fenris, who was still smirking, from the room.


	3. Love Bites, Act 3

The brackish air off the Wounded Coast mingled with the scent of blood. Fenris felt sick to his stomach, but followed Hadriana's trail, unable to get her smell off him. He would have to scrub down in the sea after, or perhaps Hawke would relent and agree to a visit to Kirkwall. It wasn't as if he didn't care for visiting his mansion, just that there were so many responsibilities awaiting him there. Ones that Bethany tried to handle, but when the city clamored for its Champion, only Hawke would do. As he would say, 'Kill one Arishok and they never let you hear the end of it.'

Fenris transformed back, looking up at the quickly darkening sky. The wind kicked up, the waves cresting ominously before crashing against the rocky coast. In the far off distance, he saw flashes of lightning. The storm was heading their way, and it would be unforgiving as most storms off the Waking Sea tended to be. Regardless of finding the right cave, they would need to seek shelter soon to wait for it to pass. The alternative option, the one Hawke would likely take, would be to continue through the gale. They would lose the trail, and soaked to the bone, end up in some random cave with giant spiders and dragonlings. He was a good man, just sometimes not a very smart one.

"We only have a short time before the storm is upon us," Fenris said, hand up and squinting against the wind.

"Better find that lair soon, then," Hawke returned, glancing sidelong at him.

Fenris knew that Hawke was just as worried as he was. Still, it felt as if he was being blamed, something that didn't sit well with him. He transformed at once and took off, sprinting down the coast. Hawke's words were lost in the wind, and he only felt slightly guilty for making him run. Though aided by a haste spell, when Hawke finally caught up with him he was bent double, clutching his side.

"You ass."

Fenris growled in response, knocking against him. Hawke scowled and rubbed his fur the wrong way, then laughed.

"You're still an ass, Fenris. Is this the right cave, then?" he asked, gesturing to the ominous mouth where they'd stopped.

Fenris sniffed the rocks near the entrance and pawed the sand before letting out a quiet snuffling noise. This was definitely it. He could smell Hadriana's foul scent like a bad, lingering perfume. Hawke held up a handful of blue flame and they stepped inside. It was warmer, but damp. The sand was wet beneath his feet, and he hated the trail they left, the obvious imprints as they walked further in. Wind ruffled his fur, and he kept his snout down, sniffing, letting it guide them through. Sand gave way to rock and stone, then wood.

"Going to need you on this," Hawke said, releasing a catch in his staff to pull the greatsword from it.

Fenris transformed back and took it, flicking a button on the pommel that caused the cross-guard to spring open. The magic the sword leeched from the staff thrummed wildly for a moment, causing his markings to flare brightly. Hawke stepped away, holding up a hand against the light.

"Tone it down there, Sparky."

Fenris glared. "If I never have to hear another of your insufferable nicknames-"

"You love me."

Fenris muttered irritably. Hawke led the way this time, as there was only one path to take. They stepped across a rickety rope bridge, nothing but darkness beneath them. The air that filtered up from the seemingly bottomless pit carried a smell of rotting flesh.

"Eugh," Hawke stated eloquently, pressing his forearm to his nose.

"A dumping ground for bodies," Fenris confirmed. "Likely far below." He retched a little and hurried Hawke forward toward the next chamber. "I do not remember Hadriana's powers being that of a succubus. She always tended toward the salacious magicks, though. I suspect Danarius merely aided her in taking that last step toward it."

"He does rather like experimenting on his-" Hawke stopped suddenly. "Going to put my foot in my mouth now."

"Hope the leather suits your tastes," Fenris said off-handedly. He was used to Hawke's sense of humor and lack of tact by now. Hardly anything he said truly caused offense. "We should expect quite a lot of opposition. Soldiers, perhaps. Demons, definitely."

"Sure do know how to cheer a man up," Hawke sighed. "How powerful is she?"

"Not as powerful as you."

Hawke grinned. "Stroke the ego some more."

"No."

"Oh come on."

"If your ego grew any larger, it would swallow Kirkwall." He stopped suddenly, hissing at Hawke to be quiet when he started to speak again. The sound of footsteps stopped half a second after theirs. He gripped his sword, the leather creaking softly. "Ten meters behind us," he whispered. 

He should have seen it, the collection of stones as the entered the chamber. It was the perfect site for an ambush, and he missed it. Hawke didn't berate him though, as he missed them as well. Perhaps in his wolf form he might have smelled them, but it was no use thinking about hindsight now. They were surrounded.

"You are outnumbered."

"But not outclassed," Hawke said, turning to look at the four mages behind them.

Fenris kept his eyes forward, watching a half dozen more step out from the shadows. Shades pulled themselves from inky black pits in the ground, and a blazing hot rage demon howled as it emerged from the depths of the Fade. Fenris lifted his sword, but Hawke gently pushed it down. Irritated, knowing they could likely take on the mages or the demons, but not both, Fenris hoped Hawke had a plan.

"Our mistress would like to see you. It would be best if you-"

"Yeah, yeah, come quietly," Hawke said, hooking his staff to his back. "Lead the way."

Fenris caught his eye and the nearly imperceptible wink. Unsure if that meant if Hawke did indeed have a plan, or if like usual he was merely making things up as they went along, he followed Hawke and the mages further into the cave.

-

Were it not for the corpses and the ever prevalent stink of death and decay, the throne room might have been almost cozy. It was most definitely impressive though, with its high stone walls and gilded throne at the top of the hall. Dwarf-carved pillars lined the hall and a lush red carpet that had seen better days ran from the double doors up the stairs, leading toward Hadriana. She sat comfortably, one leg hanging haphazardly over an arm of the throne, her foot jiggling rhythmically. Her short skirts were arranged to hide whatever modesty she had left, and her leather top fitted tightly with a scoop neck that showed off her generous cleavage.

Fenris had never been inclined particularly toward women _or_ men. As a slave, his body wasn't his own. Hadriana reminded him of this many times, with Danarius's encouragement. It wasn't until he escaped that he learned he had the right to say yes or no. Of course there was only one opportunity for him to take advantage of that before he was on the run again. Then after that, Hawke found him. Thus he stood, impervious to Hadriana's charms, the pheromones which rolled off her like the waves of the Waking Sea, causing Hawke to gape openly as she shifted in her chair, giving them an unobstructed view of what was beneath her skirts before she stood.

"Hawke," Fenris whispered warningly.

"I'm fine," came the quick and quiet reply.

"You're here much sooner than I expected," she said, stretching. She glanced around, then stood with her hands on her hips. "And without the package. Now, what did you think you were going to do?"

"Kill you," Hawke said.

She laughed, and Fenris's skin crawled. "Hawke."

Hawke pulled his staff from his back, twirling it once. Hadriana's mages started to converge, but she held up a hand to stay them. She looked amused. Hawke gestured grandly around the hall.

"I will kill every last person in here who opposes me. If you leave now, your life is spared. This is your one and only chance."

He wasn't joking. There wasn't even a hint of a smile in his tone, his face stoic. Fenris was used to the playfulness, the jesting. It annoyed him almost to no end, but essentially that's what Hawke was. He deflected everything with a joke, and his sense of humor started to rub off on Fenris. But now, he was deadly. Dangerous. And Hadriana wasn't taking him seriously. Though nervous, palms sweating as he gripped his sword, Fenris knew that she would underestimate them both.

Two mages apparently thought their lives more important than Hadriana's ire, and fled the room. She glared at Hawke as she descended the stairs, one long leg after the other. Her icy blue eyes glowed with the force of her magic behind them, and Fenris felt the wave of energy as it surged forward. He let it carry him backward, tumbling head over feet before leaping up gracefully and turning to swing his sword, catching an approaching mage unaware, and took his head clean from his neck.

The air thickened with magic, jets of red and blue energy zipped through the room. Fenris felt a barrier surround him just in time, a spell pinging off its side, then fizzling out before the ricochet could do any damage. Dealing with blood mages was always risky, and Fenris aimed for a killing blow every time. Though the next could always use their companion's blood for a spell, it would take time to conjure, and by then he was thrusting his sword into their chest or neck. Leave none alive, leave no opportunities for them to fight back, to use their wounds to their advantage. He learned this early on fighting with Hawke, and it saved his life more than once.

Hawke conjured lengths of electricity, thin as fishing wire, but deadly. Fenris had seen him strip flesh from bone, and it happened now. One of the mages lost his arm, the wound cauterized instantly, not a speck of blood on the floor. Wide-eyed and panicking, the mage didn't have time to react as the wires wrapped his throat. Hawke yanked his fists away from one another. There was a grotesque gurgling noise as the mage's trachea was severed in a dozen places, his head falling to the ground and rolling away. Hadriana was screaming, issuing orders to the remaining few that ran out.

"Let them go!" Hawke shouted.

Fenris wanted to go after them. Hawke even gave them a chance before to run. Why should they be spared now? But he understood. Their real quarry was in front of them, a whirling mist of white and red surrounding her, shielding her. Fenris dropped his sword and sprinted forward, transforming mid-leap as he dove into the shield. Though meant to deflect magical rather than physical attacks, there was still resistance as he passed through. Pain wracked his body, but it didn't matter. He knocked Hadriana down, pinning her to the ground. Fueled by incandescent rage, he didn't give her to the opportunity to cast another spell, his jaws closing over her face as she flailed. He would have torn her throat from her body, but they landed wrong, and he didn't waste time. He wanted her to hurt, to suffer, to feel the pain she inflicted on him all those years ago. There was only one person he wanted to suffer more than her.

"Fenris!"

Hawke was calling, and he could barely hear him through his anger. Another bite, and another. He'd somehow moved to her stomach, tearing it open, ripping her intestines from her body. She twitched, and gurgled, blood pooling on the floor. The scent of feces and blood and urine were thick, and cloyed at his nostrils. A zap of electricity went straight to her heart, and she stilled, dead. Fenris turned to Hawke, growling, jaws dripping with blood, strips of flesh hanging from his fangs.

"Enough," Hawke ordered, snaps of electricity between the fingers of one hand, flames licking idly at the other.

Fenris backed away, ears flat and hackles raised. He wanted her to suffer. She was his rightful kill. But the less animalistic part of his brain relented, and he slunk away. Hawke picked up his sword, closed the cross-guard, and reinserted it into his staff. Fenris did not change back, too angry to have a proper conversation with Hawke, not wanting to hear whatever he had to say. Perhaps to warn him against his rage. But should he forgive them? Or forget what they've done? Hawke didn't know. He couldn't know. No amount of explanation would truly make him understand it. So he merely followed his friend out the caves.

It began to rain while they were inside, and Fenris strode directly into the storm, letting the rain wash the blood and viscera from his fur. He sat, head up to the sky, and transformed back, taking several deep breaths in the cooling, cleansing downpour. Hawke touched the top of his head, and Fenris looked at him, water dripping from his hair and beard.

"Time to go home for a bit."

Fenris nodded. He needed the break.


	4. The Strange Case of Dr. Anders and Mr. Justice, Act 1

A spike of utter agony shot through his frontal lobe as he returned to consciousness. This in itself wasn't unusual. After a long night of work he often woke with a blinding headache. When he pressed his palm to his forehead to quell the pain, however, he realized his hands were sticky with congealed blood. Blood which was now smeared across his face. Usually the correct response for this was panic. And there was still panic, however it was dulled, annoyance being the prevalent emotion. Perhaps he should have felt distress at that, and he would. But first he needed to fix his current predicament.

He rolled out of bed, looking down at his nightshirt. The previous night was a blank in his mind, and he was more disconcerted with the fact that he'd stripped at some point and couldn't remember, rather than with the blood that decorated the shirt. He looked around, at a bit of a loss for a moment. His clinic was small, but it served him well. The back room was one he shared with his stock, shelves interspersed from the door leading out to the clinic proper. The door was firmly locked and warded, but the shelves would disrupt any magic or magic cancelling abilities long enough to give him a way to escape into the sewers should templars come to call. The grate was open now, and he slammed it shut with a clang before pulling the rug back over it.

Confused, head still pounding, he stumbled toward the partitioned off area and ran the pump, filling a metal basin halfway. Though the premises for the clinic were out of the way, no more than a hovel in a shitty corner of Darktown, having a working pump and clean well water was a huge luxury. He heated the water and pulled his nightshirt over his head, examining the rest of his body. Cuts. Bruises. Little things that would heal on their own, but his left leg ached and he realized it was broken at some point in the night. He really needed to remember what happened, and tried to pull the memory of last night to the forefront of his mind.

"AH!"

The pain in his head intensified, causing his legs to buckle. He clutched the edge of the basin, then fell, the water cascading over his naked form. The metal edge hit his leg and he almost vomited from the pain.

"All right!" he snarled. "All right! Sweet Andraste, let me think!"

It was getting worse. More and more blanks in his memories. More mornings where he needed to burn yet another set of clothing and scrub someone's blood from his hands. He wanted it to stop. He _needed_ it to stop. Forcing warm, soothing, healing magic through his body, even the little cuts and bruises disappeared. His headache and the nausea subsided. Carefully he pushed the basin off himself and stood. With calculated movements, he tried again, pumping and heating the water, and scrubbed his skin raw. He washed his hair next, wincing as he combed out the tangled strands and tied it up messily. After draining the water, he cleaned the spill as best he could and gathered his clothing into a pile before burning it.

"At least he left my coat."

He dressed slowly, still feeling stiff and exhausted despite his healing magic, and sat to pull on his boots. The ache in his back right between his shoulder blades made itself known, and he longed for the end of the day, though it only just started. He knew he wouldn't find any respite in sleep, however. He hadn't, not for a long time now. Pushing himself up from the bed, he took his coat off the rack. It was a compromise. Clothing could be replaced, though not easily, but the coat was special to him. He'd collected the feathers for the pauldrons himself, and worked spells and wards through the fabric for protection. Though it was patched and frayed, he couldn't imagine not having it. It was off limits to _him_.

 _Speaking of,_ he thought, moving to his desk. It was large, heavy, and probably the nicest piece of furniture he owned. If he had a choice, he would've traded it for a better mattress. Then again, what did it matter since he wasn't sleeping anymore? He sighed as he sank into the chair, his muscles thanking him for the extra added padding. Listening for the door, though he knew no one would be around until he unlocked it and lit the lanterns, he reached down for the secret catch. A hidden drawer opened and he took the beaten up leather-bound journal from it. The ties were rotting, and a lot of the ink among the pages was smudged, but he could still read most of it.

Half the journal was in his own hand, a flourishing script, slanted, a little hurried, somewhat untidy but still legible. The other half was in big, blocky print, capital letters that were sometimes written backwards, like a child's writing. But the words were not innocent. In fact, if someone were to read the journal, they would have thought it written by two completely different people, one a polite, sane – if a little put-upon – doctor. The other, a crazy madman Void-bent on destruction. But that's not what Justice was. Justice wasn't even a man.

**KILLED THREE. THREE DEAD TONIGHT. HURT THE FAMILY OF THE MAGE GIRL WE ЯESCUED FROM THE GALLOWS. NEED TO GO INTO GALLOWS. STOP ALRIK. MAGƎS MUST BE FREE.**

He massaged his forehead. Three. Three more templars. But the problem with that was they just kept making _more_ bloody templars. The Chantry had an inexhaustible supply. And killing them wasn't exactly in line with Justice and his purpose. He felt him slipping, felt his anger warping the thing inside him into a force of Vengeance. He clung to the last bits of his sanity like a drowning man to driftwood. They needed a plan. A real plan before this got worse. 

He came to Kirkwall to make a difference, reports of Harrowed mages being arrested on trumped up charges and dragged back to the Gallows. Children being made Tranquil. The rumors of rapes and beatings, and no one did anything. He tried at first to preach in the streets, but the templars threatened to arrest him, and the captain of the guard certainly hadn't helped matters either. No one would bloody listen! His hands shook as he reached for the pen and ink, and the page dotted slightly before he wrote.

_Justice, you need to stop killing. You need to control yourself. We need sleep, Justice. I am only a mortal man. Please. We'll formulate a plan to get Alrik. I promise, but we can't do it right now. We need resources. A safe way into the Gallows. We have to make it look like an accident. You can't just tear the heads off any templar you see, damn it!_

_Also, stop using my toothbrush._

After the ink dried, he closed the book and tucked it back into its hiding place before navigating the shelves. The front room of the clinic was divided into private, curtained sections, with a hall down the middle. A smaller desk sat near the front where he consulted with patients before seeing them to a bed to examine them. Magical wards for silencing ensured the patient's privacy, and in all, he felt confident in his practice. Of course it was all non-profit. He either fetched ingredients himself or told his patients to send donations to Lirene. Maker bless her, she made sure he had what he needed for the clinic, but he took very little for himself.

He unlocked the front door and lit the lanterns before settling down at his desk. The desk sat in front of the wide glass window that was lined with iron bars, same as the door. He hated having them, as if he couldn't trust the people of Darktown. But the thing was, he really couldn't. While most were coming in for innocent reasons, if he was away from the clinic or asleep – on the rare occasion that he _did_ sleep – they could break the glass and rob him blind. He needed the supplies to help the people, and while he hardly stocked anything too expensive, any amount of coin was a lot when you had nothing.

The bell over the door jingled and he looked up, still trying to chase the grogginess away. In stepped his dear friend Karl, who carried a box atop which he balanced two large steins of steaming coffee. Tucked under his arm was a newspaper. His grey hair glistened slightly, and it was obvious he'd been caught in the rain, his cloak dotted with droplets.

"Morning, Anders," Karl said cheerily.

Anders grinned despite himself and stood to help him with the coffee. Karl placed the box on his desk and flipped open the lid. Fried dough sprinkled with cinnamon and sugar, some of them stuffed with cream, fruit, or honey. They were all the rage now, a breakfast fad from Orlais. If there was anything that country was good for, Anders decided as he took a bite of sugary deliciousness, it was the food.

"Mm good," he managed around a bite, licking the melted sugar from his fingertips.

"You look like hell, kid," Karl said, taking off his cloak and hanging in on a peg by the door. "Bad night?"

"Something like that," Anders admitted. "What's in the paper?" Though he already knew, and his stomach twisted slightly. He sipped the coffee that Karl brought, not too sweet and with a hint of hazelnut, just how he liked it. Norah at the Hanged Man was always perfect with his drink. He would have to remember to scrounge some coin for her for a tip when he brought the mugs back.

"Not good news," Karl admitted, sitting down across from him. He crossed his legs and took a sip of his own coffee before flicking the newspaper open. "'Three dead in brutal attack. Templars only victims. Chantry suspects anti-religious groups.' Isn't it strange? A serial killer who only targets templars."

 _And Chantry member who support them,_ Anders thought, but didn't say. He took another bite of breakfast to avoid having to answer, while Karl continued.

"I think that if it was an anti-religious group, they would've found them by now. The thing is, while the city guard's looking into this, the Chantry wants to blame the mages. Of course. But there's no evidence of magic. The templars, you know how they were killed?"

Anders squirmed a little, feeling nauseous. "Uh-uh," he muttered negatively, keeping his eyes down and focused on his coffee.

"Decapitated. But not by a sword or daggers. The reports from the autopsy states that their heads were ripped clean off. Like an animal did it. What human do you know can do that?"

_What human indeed?_

"So why are they blaming mages? Other than the obvious reasons," Anders amended. He reached for another bit of fried dough, sucking the thick, clotted cream from the center before taking a bite.

"They speculate that since no human could do it, and the chances of a wild animal making its way anywhere into Kirkwall without being spotted are so slim, that mages have been summoning demons which are then pulling their heads off."

Anders winced. "There needs to be a more tasteful way to describe their deaths, Karl, you'll make me lose my breakfast."

"And to think how much coin would be lost if that happened. All right. We can talk about more pleasant things if it suits you." Karl folded the newspaper and tossed it on the desk.

Grateful, Anders switched to a safer topic, the appointment of a new viscount. Apparently there were talks of a man called Hawke possibly taking over, but Knight-Commander Meredith wasn't hearing any of that. Hawke, as far as Anders figured, was some kind of a local hero. Karl tried explaining what happened – something about a Qunari occupation and the death of the Arishok. But if this Hawke was such a big deal, why did he always seem never to be in the city when it needed his help? There were also rumors of him being a mage, but Anders highly doubted _that_.

"I don't know why you stay," Anders finally sighed.

Karl smiled. "Someone's got to look out for you, Anders. And if you think you can make a difference here, then I'm obligated to stay and help."

Anders smiled tiredly, not meeting his eyes. He and Karl were former lovers. He'd been enamored with him since they first made love in the Circle in Ferelden, and they continued even after Anders followed him to Kirkwall. But things changed when Justice became more prominent. When he started taking over every night instead of every once in a while. It just wasn't safe. And when Anders ended it, Karl took it graciously, and promised him they'd stay friends. Romantic and sexual love faded into a fierce and fast friendship, and Anders was grateful. He didn't have any other friends in the city, and his burden was heavy.

The mages would be free, free of chains, free of persecution and prosecution when they hadn't done anything wrong. Anders just didn't want anyone he cared for to get hurt, especially Karl. He looked out the large glass window as the rain continued to fall.

"Slow day today."

"I'll keep you company. I don't have any classes today. My kids are all sick." Karl pulled a deck of cards from his pocket and shuffled.

Anders laughed and sat back. "I know. I treated them. All right. Deal. But I'm not betting money."

"Kid," Karl said, flicking cards at him, "if we were keeping score, you would owe me more money than Kirkwall's nobles combined are worth."

Not for the first time, nor the last, was Anders grateful for his friend.


	5. The Strange Case of Dr. Anders and Mr. Justice, Act 2

Fenris enjoyed silence. He was quite happy sitting alone in a room by himself, lost in thought. It was even better when he was in a copper lined porcelain tub full to the brim with water that was just shy of being too hot. Steam rose from the surface of the milky water, the scent a very soothing blend of lavender and some medicinal herb that Bethany mixed regularly for them. He was grateful now as he stretched, the popping of his joints echoing in the otherwise empty bathing room. While he would have been fine scrubbing down in the ocean or a lake as they usually did, a hot bath was something he regularly indulged in when it came to their returns to Kirkwall.

"Hey, Fenris."

Of course, since it was Hawke's house, he had a key to every damn door, which meant while Fenris could lock the door to the bathing chamber, there was the possibility that Hawke would interrupt. And he always interrupted. At first, Hawke kept his distance, but years spent together hunting for the weird and unnatural and most often times evil, bred familiarity. Part of him was glad for that, as you needed to trust that someone had your back when you were up against impossible odds. The other part missed it when Hawke avoided him while he was in a state of undress.

"There was once a time," Fenris muttered, "that you would apologize and look away when I was naked in your presence. It was respect that you gave that I was happy to take."

"This is more important than you being naked in my bathtub," Hawke said, holding out the runestone.

Fenris sat up in order to watch the smoke unfurl from the runestone, two pinpricks of light like eyes staring unseeingly as the voice spoke.

"You're looking for the two-face man. He is in Kirkwall. Follow the bodies."

The smoke disappeared.

"That's it?" Fenris asked in disbelief.

"It's a lead," Hawke said, his own enthusiasm waning with Fenris's lack. "I thought you'd be pleased."

"It's vague. And largely unhelpful. What bodies? We leave trails of bodies wherever we go, that doesn't mean we'll run into the person we're looking for." He ducked under the water a moment, slicking his hair back when he surfaced.

Hawke pocketed the stone, frowning. "Well I'm going to see Aveline tomorrow morning and you can come with me or you can stay here and shrivel up."

"You're acting like a petulant child. Of course I'll come." Fenris sighed and leaned back again, arms resting on the edge of the tub. He glanced over at Hawke. "All right?"

Instead of leaving, Hawke pulled over a stool and sat down. "Are you?"

Fenris sighed again and closed his eyes. "Make yourself useful and hand me a washcloth." He watched Hawke cross the room to the racks of clean towels and cloths and return with one. He took his time wetting the cloth, ringing it out, and folding it before placing it on his forehead. "Yes. I am fine."

Hawke scowled. "Don't leave it like that."

"Hadriana is dead. I am glad for it. Do you truly wish to rehash this?"

"No," Hawke admitted. "But I think you should. I haven't seen you lose control like that in a long time."

Fenris appreciated the concern, but he didn't need it right now. What he needed was solitude, or at least silence, neither of which Hawke was willing to give him. If he was angrier, or more tired, or even more confused than he felt he was right now, he might have snapped at Hawke to leave him alone. Or dug into Hawke's own past, how he lost his mother to people like Hadriana. _No,_ he corrected himself. He would never bring up Leandra to Hawke. That wound was too raw. But it seemed unfair that Hawke was unwilling to let this go.

"It was satisfying to see her die."

"Tortured."

Fenris scowled. "To give her back a fraction of the pain that she caused me, yes. Yes, I was happy." He pulled the washcloth down over his eyes.

Hawke sighed loudly. "Look, I ask because I care about you. And I want to make sure it won't happen again."

"That what won't happen?" He shifted in the tub, rolling his shoulders against the smooth copper.

"That you won't lose control. I _need_ to know that you have my back."

Fenris winced in the light when Hawke pulled the washcloth from his eyes. He glanced over. "Yes. All right," he said shortly. "It won't happen again."

"Unless we fight Danarius."

"No. Not even then," Fenris said defensively. "I cannot…" He sighed. "I can only promise that I will do what I can to make sure that it won't happen again."

Hawke nodded, seemingly satisfied for now. "I'll leave you to it. Tomorrow we can look into the clue from the runestone and visit Aveline."

Fenris sank low into the water, grumbling.

"I know you don't care much for her. If it makes you feel any better, you can go in wolf form. Scare the shit out of the new recruits."

Fenris smiled.

-

"If _I_ could turn into a giant monster wolf and not have to talk to people and still get answers, I would," Hawke complained.

He looked at Fenris, who sat idly in the foyer of Hawke's manor, waiting. The great wolf lifted a paw and licked it idly, and Hawke scowled.

"I know I promised you that you could go in this form, but honestly, Fenris, I could use your help." Not that he thought the officials in the viscount's keep would like an elf there any more than a giant wolf. But being Champion of the city did get you some leeway.

Fenris transformed, annoyed. "You owe me."

"We'll add that to my tab," Hawke said, feeling better. 

He led the way out into Hightown. It was early enough that the square was still quite empty save for the guards patrolling. They waved to him and he greeted them easily, but didn't stop for idle chatting. With any luck, they would get in, have a talk with Aveline, and be able to leave quickly. Fenris wasn't the only one who was uncomfortable in the Viscount's Keep. This was where Hawke fought the Arishok, the conflict that gave him the Champion title. While the nobles were happy to have their own little pet monkey in him, Knight-Commander Meredith and Guard Captain Aveline were less so. At least Meredith seemed fine with him leaving the city for months on end. Perhaps as a way to grab more power for herself.

Which in turn, of course, made it worse for Aveline. They used to be friends, and still were of a sort. Their work kept them apart from one another mostly. Aveline wasn't happy with his vigilantism, but she would suffer him over any other hunters that decided to come through Kirkwall looking for easy marks. And Kirkwall never seemed to have a shortage of blood mages and vampires, that was for sure. Knight-Commander Meredith flouted Aveline's authority, posting work on the Chanter's Board, which was technically outside Aveline's jurisdiction. A bounty for any information leading to the arrest of blood mages. Of course that was dangerous and often led to people turning in innocent, law-abiding mages.

Kirkwall was a shithole, but it was home.

"If she doesn't have any information, I'll do a run of the gossip mill myself," Hawke said, still trying to appease Fenris.

"Very well."

They descended into the barracks and Hawke gave a perfunctory knock on the captain's door before letting himself in. Aveline looked up from her desk, huffed quietly, then went back to her paperwork.

"Nice to see you, too," Hawke said, annoyed.

Fenris leaned back against the wall, foot propped against it, arms crossed. Hawke wished he could be as disengaged as him right now. It seemed though that he would have to fight through a wall of Aveline's irritation and the bullshit that came with it before he would get any answers.

"Reports of dead mages on the Wounded Coast. They say it was an animal attack. Would you know anything about that?" she asked.

"Maybe. It depends on what information you have for me."

"This relationship works out," she said, signing a paper and setting it in her outbox, "when you cooperate. Otherwise, I can find a reason to haul you in and simply make you talk."

"This relationship works out," Hawke mocked, "when you don't get in my way. I thought we agreed that you were going to keep your title in your office."

"We _are_ in my office," she said, looking up again. "Fenris," she added, by way of greeting. "Hope you're keeping out of trouble."

Hawke stepped into her line of sight, blocking Fenris from view. "Instead of throwing around veiled threats, why don't you tell me about the string of recent murders?"

Aveline cocked an eyebrow. She might have been the only person not to be intimidated by Hawke. "We're handling it."

"All right." Hawke turned to leave.

"Wait."

He stopped, smirking. Getting control of his facial expressions, he turned back around. "Yes?"

"That's it?" she asked, tossing her pen down. She sat back, eyeing him suspiciously. "You're just going to walk away?"

"You're not going to give me any information, so I won't take up any more of your time."

"That's not how you normally operate. You pester. You're annoying."

Fenris shifted. Hawke might be annoying, but he disliked hearing a bad word against him. Especially from Aveline, who seemed to lack the respect for Hawke that he was owed.

"I just figured I would head over to the Chantry, look at the board… maybe visit Meredith in the Gallows. Possibly bring her a vase with flowers. You think she likes roses or tulips?"

Aveline glared. Hawke knew he had her. He would have his information whether it came from her or Meredith, and she hated to be overruled in anything. Still glaring, she stood and pulled a file from her cabinet, and plucked a Wanted poster from a bulletin board. Hawke took them both, waving Fenris over to look. Reports of more dead templars on almost a daily basis. The city was taking huge losses, and the Divine was considering sending soldiers to find this person.

"So what you're saying is that unless we find out who's doing this, you lose the little crumb of authority that you have left."

She snatched the file back from him. "If you're going to be an ass-"

"Admit you need the help."

"We have guards working around the clock-"

Hawke shook his head. She was too proud. Of course, so was he, but he could admit it when he needed a hand. And he _trusted_ his friends to help him out. "I'm going to look into this."

"You'll be representing the Kirkwall Guard-"

"No," Hawke cut her off. "I won't. I have my own interest in this man who apparently has an affinity for killing templars."

"…This isn't a hunt, is it?" Aveline asked cautiously, looking as if she would arrest Hawke to keep him from pursuing the two-face man if it was.

"Nope," Hawke answered truthfully. "The man has information pertaining _to_ a hunt, but he himself is not the hunt. So I'll find him, subdue him, get my information, then turn him into you. Fair enough? I'm not going to play by your rules though."

"Hawke-"

"Your rules haven't found this guy yet and they won't. He might as well _be_ a hunt, all things considered. He's got a disgusting amount of power, power that the templars can't negate. He might be a mage, but he's probably something worse. If I do this by the books, I'm going to end up getting killed. And won't that be a tragedy for us all?"

Aveline clenched her jaw, and Fenris smirked.

"Fine," she relented. "But if you end up dead anyway, we're not responsible."

Hawke looked at Fenris. "Note it. If I die, Bethany is to seek no reparations from Aveline. Also, Aveline's not allowed at my funeral."

"So noted," Fenris said, enjoying the look of irritation of Aveline's face.

"Come, friend," Hawke said, wrapping his arm around Fenris's shoulders, avoiding the spiky armor. "We have a monster to trap."

And, feeling pleased with himself, Hawke strode out of the captain's office to find more information on the two-face man.


	6. The Strange Case of Dr. Anders and Mr. Justice, Act 3

Fenris stayed behind when Hawke ran the rumor mill. A network of dwarves and elves and assorted Lowtown scum who enjoyed an extra bit of coin and kept him in the loop. While Fenris would have gone to watch his back, Hawke insisted he needed him elsewhere. Since the victims were by and large all templars, the idea was to stalk the docks for a few hours after dark to see if anyone suspicious came or went. While a lot of templars stayed in the Gallows, many kept residence in Hightown. The bodies were all found in Lowtown, nowhere near the docks, and nowhere near any of the deceased's' residences. Where the murders were taking place, however, no one knew.

 _No animal would drag the bodies elsewhere,_ he thought as he slunk through the shadows.

The docks were the brightest part of Kirkwall after dark. Huge lanterns were lit for the incoming cargo ships, workers loading and unloading through the night. This was counter-productive to his wanting to stay hidden. A huge wolf was more conspicuous than an elf, even one that looked like him, but he needed his ability to sniff out anything odd. Perhaps he should leave the docks and go investigate the murder sites. Though the trail was likely long gone, washed away by the rain that always seemed so prevalent this time of year in Kirkwall.

And yet hanging around here wasn't going to net him any more information. If they wanted a lead, they wouldn't find it on the docks. He could go to the Gallows with Hawke in the morning, perhaps ask the templar recruits for information if they hadn't been sworn to silence. But then Meredith would likely want to know what Hawke's interest was in finding the two-face man, and he couldn't trust her like he could trust Aveline. They might not get along, but as long Hawke wasn't doing anything outright illegal, she wouldn't turn him in. And she never caught him using any dark or dangerous magic within the city limits.

Disappointed, Fenris kept to the shadowed alleyways to find Hawke, catching his scent on the wind. Of course he would be up in Lowtown, hopefully finding more leads than Fenris had. The trail stopped at the door of the Hanged Man, and Fenris transformed back, irritated. If Hawke was in there drinking and not doing what he said he was going to do… He pushed open the door and stepped inside. It was late enough that the tavern was emptier than usual, and Fenris spotted Hawke right away, sitting at a table, drink in one hand, cards in the other.

Hawke looked up, caught his eye, and the jovial grin slid from his face. He finished his beer, tossed down his cards and some gold, and said good night. Fenris heard the lamentations from the group, and Hawke gave them a mollifying grin, making his apologies before crossing the tavern.

"So… find anything?" Hawke asked.

"Did you?" Fenris returned, his tone flat.

Hawke ducked his head a little, gesturing him out. Fenris huffed but led the way into the cool night air, feeling the beginnings of a light mist against his face. They started in the direction of Hightown.

"A bit. Not much," Hawke admitted. "Someone said they saw a great hulking shadow, then heard a man scream. They ran in the other direction, but it happened in the Undercity."

"Did they say where?"

"Got a vague description of it. We should go stake it out tomorrow night."

Fenris frowned. "Why not now?"

"Because I am drunk."

"Of course you are." Of course he was. Fenris sighed loudly to show Hawke how annoyed he was. "You could have retrieved me from the docks. Or were you planning on leaving me out there all night?"

"I would've come for you. Did you find out anything?" Hawke pressed, obviously wanting to avoid being yelled at for his discourtesy.

Fenris sighed. "No. Nothing. The templars move regularly, patrol regularly. Though their presence has increased tenfold since last we were here. The patrols are roughly the same, but they move in twos rather than alone. Likely to try to avoid being murdered. I thought we could visit the Gallows in the morning to speak with the recruits."

Hawke shook his head. "Nah. Thought about that, but it would draw too much attention. Even if I asked Thrask, my presence in the Gallows is damning. Meredith would want to know why and I don't want to put him in that predicament. We'll check out the Undercity location tomorrow. See if we can find any clues."

They gained the merchants' square and fell silent, Fenris thinking about what tomorrow might bring. If they were caught down there, Hawke could probably bribe the templars with some coin and nothing more would be said. But it would blow their opportunity.

"I did find something else," Hawke said. "Here, let's get inside and I'll show you."

Once the door to the mansion was shut, Hawke pulled out what looked like a stick, about the length of his forearm.

"I hope you didn't pay top coin for that."

Hawke made a face, then gave it a flick. It doubled in length and glowed with a whitish-green hue. He held it parallel to the ground out in front of him, and a thin silvery arrow appeared atop it. Drawing it back as if it were a regular bow, he shot the arrow with speed and precision into his front door where it stuck, then fizzled, leaving a rather large hole.

"Psionic arrow."

"Yes, I see that," Fenris said flatly. "But… why?"

"Because it's awesome, Fenris," Hawke said, his tone exasperated. "Not everything needs a purpose."

Fenris sighed. "I am going to bed."

As he walked away, he heard Hawke muttering, "Spoilsport," behind him.

-

Fenris's first thought regarding the Undercity was that he definitely preferred the scent of blood and death over feces and urine. He would have rather traversed the sewers in his elven form, his boots keeping the questionable detritus from his feet. He would need to scrub himself raw after this. But his form was necessary for tracking. Through the repulsive, yet unique, aroma of the sewers, he led them further into the darkness. The tan stone ground became rougher, less traveled, Fenris scraping his paws against it. They were off the beaten path now, no longer in the sewers, but a network of caves.

"I wonder if these lead to the Gallows," Hawke muttered, touching one of the lichen-covered walls. "Torch brackets. What are these even used – Oh."

Fenris nuzzled his hand. Hawke stroked his head absently.

"Smugglers. That's a Carta symbol," he said, scratching at it. "And… Coterie too? So assassins and smugglers. Brilliant. Probably a safe house. If smugglers come through here I'm guessing it's lyrium. Chances are… yep. Chances are this leads to the Gallows. Well, let's find a safe spot to watch, shall we?"

Fenris kept his eyes and ears open for the sounds of others. Echoing footsteps, subtle whispers. All he heard, however, was steady dripping in a far off cave. The path twisted around before opening up into a low-ceilinged grotto, perhaps fifteen or twenty feet high. The vegetation grew thick here, the air sweet smelling. The area was divided naturally by a stone wall as tall as Hawke, with man-made steps carved out to reach the second level. Another arched passageway led further in.

A narrow, unobtrusive waterfall spilled into a shallow pool of clear water, and Fenris trotted over to sniff, then lapped at it. It was freshwater, not salty from the sea. There must have been an underground lake somewhere, which meant runoff from the mountains. His sense of direction was usually impeccable, but they were likely closer to the mountains the Gallows. He transformed back, dipping his hands into the pool to rinse off, but stopped suddenly.

"Voices."

"I hear," Hawke said, hurriedly looking around the cavern. "Up here."

They scaled the wall with the waterfall, a small crevice at the top giving them just enough space to crouch in the rocky dirt and still see what was going on. A young girl ran through the room, a terrified expression on her face. She couldn't have been more than fourteen or fifteen. She leapt down off the wall, landed badly, and cried out when she twisted her ankle. Hawke jerked forward, but Fenris grabbed his arm, holding him in place. A pulse of magic came from her hands, and she was up and running again in a flash. An escaped mage, then.

Plate metal clanked loudly, echoing off the cavern walls. Four templars jogged through the passageway, looking around. Their leader, a bald, tired-looking individual, sneered when he saw the empty room.

"She can't have gotten far. If you've lost one little mage girl…"

Fenris slunk back, pulling Hawke with them, hoping they weren't spotted. Not that they were doing anything _technically_ illegal, but Hawke was a mage. He wasn't sure if these templars would ask for identification or simply arrest them and throw them in the Gallows to be sorted out in the morning. Or worse, execute them on sight for being conspirators.

"You will not touch her."

The voice was deep, and it chilled Fenris to the bone. He looked at Hawke, who answered with his own wide-eyed stare. They turned back to look at the developing scene before them. A man – was it a man? – stepped through the doorway in which they'd come. He was tall, perhaps a full head taller than Hawke. It was impossible to make out any specific features of his face, but his shoulders were broad. And he was glowing. Not how Fenris glowed, with his silvery white markings causing him to phase through the Fade. Though there was a definite aura of magic from this creature.

"Mage!"

But Fenris wasn't sure. He'd seen his fair share of blood mages and vampires and all sorts of other creatures possessing magic. He'd never seen anything like this. Hawke winced next to him, a pained expression, one that Fenris had seen before but rarely. A silencing technique from the templars, then? The creature merely laughed.

"You think to stop me," it boomed. "But you cannot. You are mere mortals. I am the will of Justice."

The lead templar shouted orders. One of the men ran forward, shield up, sword pointed. The blade sank into the creature's chest and the templar let out a shout of surprise. Perhaps he was expecting the creature to fight back or dodge. Anything but letting the steel pierce straight through him. Startled, the templar dropped back, shield slipping off his arm, mouth open. A surge of magic coursed through the creature, blue light crackling like lightning and he pulled the sword from his chest with little effort. In the next second, the blade melted.

Neither Fenris nor Hawke could speak, watching wide-eyed, terrified and disbelieving as the creature stepped forward. One of the templars turned and ran, leaving three, the leader taking several cautious steps backward. Another cleansing washed over the area, and Fenris felt Hawke cringe. The templar leader let loose with a burst of blue light. Fenris saw it once in the field and Hawke explained it to him later, after he was violently ill in the bushes. A holy smite; a technique that has the same effect as the silence, causing the mage to lose all their mana, but also hurt them dearly. Luckily Hawke just felt sick for hours after and needed an extra vial of lyrium and some rest. But the creature…

"You seek to destroy Justice, templar?"

"Stand down, abomination!"

The creature grabbed the templar within reach, and Fenris watched in horror as the man's flesh melted, revealing bright red muscle. Then that too, melted from the heat or the magic the creature controlled. The templar's screams died with him, and Justice dropped the husk of what was once a man to the ground. Perhaps he had a death wish, or thought maybe the creature wouldn't hurt him in the same way, but the next templar rushed to avenge his fallen comrade. It wasn't even a fight; the creature grabbed his face and squeezed.

"Holy shit," Hawke whispered, and Fenris couldn't even tell him to be quiet, too stunned by what he was seeing.

The creature – Justice – brought his other hand up to cover the back of the man's head. The templar flailed, trying to connect with his sword. Justice twisted his neck viciously, the crack of his vertebrae audible from their hiding spot atop the waterfall crevice, and he _pulled_. Fenris wondered exactly how much strength it took to pull a man's head from his body, but whatever the answer was, Justice was capable. And it was every bit as terrifying as he thought it would be.

"We need to go," he hissed. "Now. While it's distracted."

Hawke didn't argue. They slid carefully and as quietly as they could from their hiding spot. Justice turned his attention toward the last templar, the bald man who threw the holy smite. He held his sword up, pointed at Justice, but Justice advanced all the same.

"Stop!" the man ordered, his voice shaking slightly, no longer the calm annoyance he emanated earlier in trying to find the mage girl.

"No."

They gained the archway to return the way they came. A horrifying scream filled their ears and while they didn't want to look back, a morbid curiosity rooted them to the spot. They turned to watch as Justice gripped the templar's head on either side. His aura glowed stronger, lighting up the cave as bright as a summer afternoon. The cracking, crunching noise was not one that Fenris would ever forget as Justice crushed the templar's head as easily as one would a grape between their fingers. Then, covered in blood, face stoic, eyes blazing with white energy, Justice turned and looked directly at them.


	7. Asylum: Act 1

The jungles of Seheron were thick and mountainous. The undergrowth made traveling outside the cities and villages near impossible, the caravans sticking to the established roads. Even those were dangerous, most of them no more than dirt paths that flooded on occasion during the rainy season. None of this mattered to Fenris though. He'd been left behind. Left behind by his master in a port city to fend for himself while the boat took the magisters across the Nocen Sea to Minrathous. Alam fell to the Qunari, organized and overpowering, and Fenris tried to run, to get away. So many died that day, but he wasn't one. Though sometimes he wished he had been.

He woke days later, lying on a comfortable bedroll in a tent, his wounds bandaged, his limbs heavy. A woman with short, shocking white hair and ebony skin, pale white mud smeared across her face and arms, looked down at him. The leather armor she wore was dyed white to match the mud, and she looked ghost-like in the darkness.

"You'll live," she said. "Though I bet you feel like you've been run over by a Qunari. Because you were. Here, sit."

She helped him sit up and filled him in on the details of what happened. The Qunari ransacked the city, killing Tevinter citizens by the dozen. Fenris, who tried to defend himself, fell to their blows. Then an unnatural fog rolled in. The Fog Warriors found him, brought him back to their camp, and nursed him back to health.

"But… why?"

She laughed. "You would prefer we left you?"

"I have no money with which to pay you."

"You owe us nothing. Except perhaps a story," she said, reaching for a cloth.

He watched her wipe away the mud, pulling her armor off one piece at a time. Fenris was no stranger to nudity, though he looked away to give her privacy as she changed. She wound a long piece of fabric behind her back to her front, cupping her breasts before it crossed against her clavicle and tied behind her neck. She pulled on a loose fitting skirt that ended a few inches above her knees and tied it off in an intricate knot. It was then that he realized he was naked, a blanket pulled to his waist for modesty. She handed him a pair of billowing pants with a leather belt.

"Dress and join us at the fire circle. I'm sure you're starving. You were asleep for a long time."

Fenris watched her go, then dressed, the woven fabric soft against his sore flesh. It smelled good too, clean and slightly smoky. With concentrated effort, he pulled himself out of the tent and stood on wobbly legs. When the Qunari attacked it was nearly morning. Now, it was pitch black out save for the stars dotting the sky. The large fire pit was some meters away. Beyond the light of the fire, however, even with his elven eyes, he could see very little. Sitting around the fire, he counted perhaps two dozen of the dark-skinned people, all dressed similarly in woven fabric. Some were white, others were dyed with bright colors. Several young children, naked as the day they were born, ran around the fire chasing dogs and pigs, and they were all laughing and talking animatedly.

He limped toward the circle, feeling apprehensive.

The woman was there, smiling at him. "You live. What's your name?"

"F-Fenris," he whispered, then cleared his throat. "Fenris," he repeated, louder.

"I am Keshet, a dancer of the Fog."

"I… I'm sorry, I don't…"

She laughed, and Fenris blushed, feeling his heart race just a little. Her laughter was lyrical and infectious, and he found himself smiling despite himself. The firelight made her skin glow, and he had an almost irresistible urge to stroke his finger along it. He tamped down on the desire. He shouldn't be here. He should be looking for his master. Danarius would be worried about him, he would be angry that Fenris wasn't trying to find passage to Minrathous. But how could he? He had no money, no way to buy passage on a ship. And even if he did, would ships be available? The last attack was vicious, and he realized that the magisters who owned land and property on Seheron wouldn't be too eager to come back after that.

Was he lost? Given up for dead like so many others?

"Come, Fenris," she said, taking his hand. "I will teach you to dance."

"But I don't-"

She pulled him toward the fire, and three others joined them, dressed in white like Keshet. Drums began to beat, and Keshet started to dance, her arms following the rhythm. Those surrounding the fire but not standing began to chant, then sing, and Fenris wasn't sure what to do. Keshet moved behind him, sliding her arms down his, entwining her fingers in his own.

"Close your eyes. Feel the music."

He swallowed hard, overwhelmed with the sensation, and closed his eyes. She led him in a dance, guiding him through steps that at first his body seemed to want to reject, then suddenly seemed to know as if by instinct. As if he'd been doing it his entire life. Soon they were moving around the fire, and others were coming to join them, and Fenris laughed with them. A fog, a white mist enveloped the camp, surrounding them. Fog Warriors, natives of Seheron, they were merely a footnote in the history books, spoken about as if they were ghosts.

_He_ was a ghost now, wasn't he?

His markings pulsed and the natives gasped as he phased, a beautiful streak of silvery blue and white. He danced for them, feeling the music, the drums hitting his very core. And then slowly, ever so slowly it stopped, and he returned to his natural form, the fog rolling away, and Keshet was there, smiling at him. Breathing heavily, he looked at her, seeking approval.

"You are beautiful," she said, reaching up and flicking back his damp bangs from his sweaty forehead.

"You are."

It was the first compliment he'd ever paid anyone on his own accord. And when she tugged him away from the camp, into the jungle, he didn't protest.

-

He looked down at Keshet's body, mangled, torn open. He tasted her blood, thick on his tongue, choking him.

_"Kill them."_

Fenris looked up, saw his master. Danarius lie dying, or close to death. He should help him. He should go to him, pick him up, carry him out, and find shelter. Around him, the bodies of the Fog Warriors, their dancers, their… children.

"Fenris."

He ran. He couldn't stay there. He couldn't go back to Danarius. Not after all that he learned. Freedom. He knew what it was like now. The choices he could make, the options, the opportunities. He sat with them, ate with them, laughed with them. And Keshet… he loved her. He hadn't known until saw her take her last breath. Did she love him? It hurt, this feeling of regret, of self-loathing and terror. Why? Why had he done it? Danarius ordered him, but they would have defended him. His friends. His family. Those he cared for, who cared for him. He hated himself. 

So he ran.

Miles later, he wasn't sure how he made it to the docks. Very little sleep, no food, no water. Stowed away on a ship, into the city, slinking through alleys and continued to run until he needed to stop. Stealing bread cooling on a windowsill and drinking from clear pools in the forests, he managed to keep himself alive, but just barely. He couldn't keep running. He needed a plan. But where would he go? South. South was safe. Anywhere out of the Imperium. For days he pushed himself until he collapsed outside of a small village on the Nevarran border. A family took him in. He worked their field, just a simple wheat farm. But it was enough to pay for the food they gave him, and the small spot in the barn. But he didn't stay long. He never stayed long. If he idled, the dull ache in his chest became a sharp stab of agony and he was sure he wouldn't be able to continue.

Then, the hunters came. First a small pack, then larger. Always a few weeks apart, but always there. He couldn't stay in one place for too long, couldn't become too comfortable. He turned from Nevarra to the Free Marches, always ducking, always dodging. Weeks became months. His training, an ironic gift from Danarius, served him well as he became a sellsword. He worked with nobles who needed a bodyguard or joined up with thieves who needed extra muscle. He scraped together coin to survive, to purchase what he needed to continue. With every day, the ache lessened just a little, but he would never fully be rid of it.

He was somewhere outside Kirkwall when they caught up with him. Two dozen soldiers and three mages – Danarius's new apprentices, perhaps? He fought hard, transforming into the wolf, clothing tearing as he did so. Though extremely painful, he needed an edge. He couldn't let them take him. He tore their throats out, snarling and clawing, knocking them to the ground, biting any bit of flesh he could. Until one of the mages pulled a silver amulet from his robes. A burst of magic caused the amulet to shatter, shards of silver and wolfsbane flying through the air toward him, penetrating fur and muscle and bone.

Fenris fell to the ground, weak and shaking. They closed in on him. It was going to be death. Danarius didn't even want him back. He only wanted the lyrium in his skin, and the mages would have it. His vision tunneled with the pain. He was going to die.

And then he didn't.

A man, another mage, blasted them back with a barrage of energy from his staff. He didn't stop, racing forward, casting another spell that knocked them off their feet. Electricity crackled, thundering down from the sky, catching them directly in their chests. They jerked and twitched, fell to the sand in smoldering heaps. Lances of ice spiked up from the ground in a crescent wave, and a second later, they were all dead. Fenris whined as the man – he would later learn his name was Hawke – knelt.

"Poor puppy," he muttered. "Hang on."

Elfroot potion in his jaws, cool and wonderful.

"Let's get you home and I'll take care of those wounds."

Fenris couldn't argue, the wolfsbane making it impossible to transform. He whimpered again as Hawke picked him up, staggering a little under the weight of his nearly unconscious body.

Breathing was difficult, but struggling would only make it worse. With each step, the silver and the wolfsbane made him weaker, but Hawke wasn't going to give up and neither was he. Whining meekly, Fenris shut his eyes, but breathed in the Kirkwall air, the scent of the Coast fading and eventually he recognized the city. They climbed several sets of stairs until finally they entered a house.

"Bethany!"

Opening his eyes was difficult, and he caught a glimpse of a girl rushing into the room before passing out.

-

Someone was poking him gently.

"Wolf. Hey, wolf."

"My name is Fenris." That's what he wanted to say. It came out in a garbled rush of grunts. A cool hand on his forehead and he reached up trying to bat it away. Hawke's voice. The man who saved him. He wanted to thank him. To pay him back for killing the mages who wanted him dead.

Then he understood. He was still in his wolf form. He needed to change, to transform. It was painful, but he pushed through it. The fur receded, and he felt a warm, scratchy rug beneath him and an even warmer, slightly softer blanket over top of him. They laid him in front of the fire, and it was the nicest, most comforting feeling he had in recent memory. Not since…

"I've seen some weird shit."

Fenris opened his eyes blearily, muscles weak, stomach roiling from the wolfsbane and silver. The man stood above him, hands on his hips, expression bewildered but amused.

"But you really take the cake, Wolfy."

"My name," he whispered, "is Fenris."


	8. Asylum: Act 2

"Well I'm glad we've established that."

Fenris opened his eyes quickly. A dream. He hadn't dreamt about the Fog Warriors in some time. Or his escape from Danarius, or the beginning of his friendship with Hawke. To have it come flooding back now instead of his short-term memory was extremely disorienting. Where was he? He sat up, or tried to, startling when a firm hand held him down.

"Easy."

Calm and soothing, but unfamiliar, the voice coaxed him to settling, and he finally was able to focus on what was right in front of him instead of years in the past. A tall, blond human, hair messily tied back from his face. He smiled.

"There. Welcome back."

"Where am I?" Fenris croaked, his throat raw, mouth dry.

"My clinic. And according to whatever dream you were having," he added, handing him a glass of water, "you like introducing yourself. Fenris."

Fenris took the water and accepted the help to sit up slowly. He drank thirstily, then looked around. It was, indeed, a clinic. White partitions separated his bed from the rest, but he could see the bed directly across from his, and Hawke in it, unconscious.

"Your companion was brought in with you. My name is Anders, by the way."

"Brought in?" Fenris asked, pressing the heel of his hand to his brow.

Anders took the glass from him. "Late last night. You were both in a fight, apparently. I patched you up."

Fenris suddenly remembered. The creature. Hulking, huge, glowing bright blue. The templars that tried to subdue it, the sword through its chest. How it killed its attackers. Melting one's flesh. Tearing off one's head, the other crushed in his powerful grip.

"Are you all right?"

Fenris started to shake slightly, knees drawn to his chest under the thin sheet. He felt the residual soreness of the fight, though he couldn't remember a damn thing about it. Flashes of light and magic and pain. Hawke hollering something.

"Is Hawke hurt?"

Anders glanced over at the other bed. "Him? He's fine. I had to medicate him because he was still slightly conscious when you were brought in. He needs sleep, but he'll make a full recovery, just like you."

Fenris touched his chest, fingers ghosting a new scar. He was naked to the waist, and sore all over. "Was it bad?"

"Bad enough that I thought you were going to die at one point."

"I… thank you." Really, it was the only thing _to_ say. Without Anders, they might have died in the sewers. "You… you're a mage," he said cautiously.

Anders narrowed his eyes and stepped back a bit, crossing his arms. "You've a problem with that?"

Fenris considered this. On principle he did not like, nor did he trust mages. However, the last few years with Hawke and Bethany showed him that his experience in the past did not have to color his entire view of them. Anders definitely didn't look like any mage from Tevinter, and even his name – if that was his real name – put him from a different country. Besides that, he sounded Fereldan. "You saved my life. And Hawke's. That's what matters." He would reserve judgment. Chances are they would never see him again anyway. And if a mage was allowed to run a clinic in Kirkwall without the knight-commander knocking down his door, he likely wasn't doing anything illegal. Definitely not a blood mage. Fenris would be able to smell it.

"Well, I'm glad to see you've got some pragmatism." Anders gestured to the table next to the bed. "There's a spare tunic. Yours was shredded. Your boots are just here. I'm going to fetch some breakfast for you both. Can you look after him while I'm gone?"

Fenris nodded, and waved away the helping hand as he got out of bed. The tile floor was cold against his feet. "He's definitely all right?"

Anders cocked his head slightly, then smiled. "He's fine. Just drugged to help with the pain. He'll be confused when he wakes up, so it's good you're here as a familiar face."

Fenris pulled the tunic over his head, brushing his hair out of his eyes and padded over to Hawke's side. He looked fine, which was surprising. While he was a force to be reckoned with on the battlefield, he wasn't much for healing. Fenris was used to seeing Hawke covered in bandages after a fight, not sleeping peacefully.

"I'll just be a few minutes. My friend Karl might drop by. If he does, tell him I'll be back shortly."

Fenris watched Anders leave. He touched his fingers to Hawke's throat, checking the pulse, pleased to find it strong. "Good." The next words he couldn't say out loud, even if Hawke was unconscious, as he thought Hawke would tease him mercilessly. _I would have been displeased if you died._

With a firm nod, he stepped back and transformed, testing the new shirt, making sure it would phase with him. The lyrium-threaded cloth shifted more easily, and he would need to ask Bethany for another. She would likely scold him for ruining it, but in the end she would probably sew him an entirely new outfit. He was about to shift back when he caught a strange scent. Blood, which wasn't unusual in a clinic. But he couldn't place what kind of blood. Human? Something smelled off, though. He inhaled, taking a few careful steps toward it. Lyrium in the blood. But it wasn't Hawke's. Had the healer mage – Anders – cut himself?

He crept forward, glancing back at the front door to make sure no one was coming in. The smell came from a second door near the back of the clinic. With another glance, he transformed back and phased through the wood. Normally he would be against the idea of snooping, especially through the things of a person who'd just saved his life. But there was something weird, and he knew better than to ignore his instinct when it kept him alive for so long.

The back room contained a dozen shelves arranged to disrupt magic or physical attacks. The zigzag pattern made it impossible to properly wield a sword. And the shelves were tall enough that they didn't allow for much space at the top. An archer perched above would have a hard time getting a clear shot. Why would a clinic doctor need to take such precautions? Unless he _was_ doing something illegal and trying his best to hide it. But surely the templars would have checked.

He transformed again, following the trail through the winding shelves and toward the back. A bed, a washbasin and a pump, all looked very innocuous. A vague sewer odor arose from the corner, and he nosed over a rug. A quick escape? He pawed the rug back down and followed the blood-and-lyrium smell to a desk. Frowning, he changed back into his elven form and sat in the chair, looking carefully. Intricately carved and made of heavy oak, the desk was covered in random papers and clutter. While his reading vastly improved under Hawke's tutelage, the script was messy and hurried, and difficult to decipher. He ran his fingers over the surface, frowning as his nail caught an imperfection in the carving. A desk this ornamental wouldn't have flaws. He pressed.

_Click!_

A hidden compartment opened, and Fenris pulled at it curiously. Tucked inside was a leather-bound journal, and he knew at once this was what he was likely smelling. The cover was stained with dried blood. He pulled it carefully from its hiding spot and opened it, frowning at the two different handwritings. One matched the scratchy script on the papers that covered Anders' desk, but the other was big and blocky and easy for him to read. He flipped to the last entry.

**SAVED ONE MAGE. THREE TEMPLARS DEAD. ALRIK IS NO LONGER A PROBLEM. YOU HAVE PATIENTS. INTERLOPERS. NOT TEMPLARS. ONE IS A MAGE. THE OTHER HAS THE SONG OF THE LYRIUM. FIX THEM.**

Fenris's eyes widened. The creature they saw, could this be his script? Was Anders hiding him somewhere here? A sudden thrill of fear raked down his spine and he sat up straight, looking around, as if he'd see it lurking there, staring at him.

But no, he was alone. He flipped back a few more pages, scanning through the accounts. They all read similarly, accounting how many dead, if there were any problems during the night. He stopped at one that was slightly darker than the rest, as if the thing was pressing harder on the paper than normal.

**BROKE ARM. CAN'T FIX ON OUR OWN. NEED ARM FOR KILLS. FIX ARM NOW!**

That explained the change in the writing. Pushing through pain to continue an account… but why wouldn't he just simply tell Anders he needed his arm healed? Why the need for the journal? Wouldn't it have been easier to-

The journal slipped from Fenris's fingers, hands shaking violently as it hit the floor. 

The two-face man. The reports of sightings. The clinic doctor. His script interposed with the creature's script. Whatever it was, was _inside_ Anders. The answer was right there, sitting on the floor between his feet. Feeling sick, Fenris leaned over and picked it up. He only had a short amount of time. He would need to wake Hawke up and get them out. The journal would need to go to Aveline for evidence. Even though this two-face man might have information on RTD or might be their next clue to find the trail again, there was no way they could take him on without some serious backup.

And the fact that he already attacked them once? Oh sure, he healed their wounds after, but Anders' words came back to him.

_"Bad enough that I thought you were going to die at one point."_

He couldn't remember what happened last night, and suddenly he was very glad for it. If they stayed any longer though, who's to say the good doctor wouldn't turn on them, especially if they started asking questions. Shoving the hidden compartment shut and pushing in the chair how he'd found it, Fenris hurried through the shelves and unlocked the door without thinking. He pushed through, stopped, and was about to correct his mistake when the front door of the clinic opened. Anders stepped in, announcing breakfast, but broke off with a confused frown at Fenris, who stood awkwardly in the back doorway.

"What are you-" Anders' eyes fell to the journal clutched in Fenris's hands.

Fenris panicked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately this will be the last chapter that is fully illustrated though next chapter will have a header. The good news is that this means that the chapters will come faster now, twice a week until I finish Season Two (nearly done, then heavy edits) and Season Three (already outlined)
> 
> Thanks to everyone for reading.


	9. Asylum: Act 3

Fenris ran to Hawke's side, shaking him awake. "Hawke! HAWKE!"

"Whu?"

Anders followed Fenris to Hawke's bed, standing at the foot of it, a thousand and one thoughts running through his mind. Of course the elf had to go snooping, of course he had to find the book. Why did it have to happen this way? Justice was a sharp throbbing in the back of his head, a persistent ache in his chest. His thoughts whirled in his mind, part of him thinking he should kill both and hide the bodies, the other part believing there had to be a way out of this that didn't involve his being thrown in the Gallows. Did every decision have to end in death?

"Hawke, wake up!"

"I'm awake, Andraste's sake, Fenris, what? Why do I feel like hell?"

The horror of Fenris's face said it all, the way he clutched the journal tightly, every damning piece of evidence in that stupid book. He should've burnt it. Why had he held on to it for so long? And Hawke… Anders thought the name sounded familiar when Fenris mentioned it before. Hawke, the Champion of Kirkwall. There was no way Hawke would let someone like him continue to exist in this city.

"You're in a clinic. The doctor is the _thing_ we saw last night!"

Anders flinched. The insult hurt more than anything. He always knew on some level that he would be caught sooner or later. Justice was careless, not thinking about consequences and repercussions. He started moving the bodies at least, to avoid showing a pattern. But he never thought about what came after, the things that Anders would have to deal with. His only driving force was what he was created to do: bring justice to the oppressed.

Hawke sat up suddenly, clutching his head. "What? What's-" He looked at Anders, frowning, trying to make sense of what Fenris was saying. "Fenris, what in the Maker's name are you talking about? The guy we saw last night was… huge. He's… erm. Not. No offense."

"None taken," Anders said weakly.

Fenris shoved the journal at Hawke's chest, then turned, glaring at Anders. "Don't even think about running."

"How did we get here?" Hawke asked, opening the book.

"You said it was refugees," Fenris snarled at Anders. "But it was you, wasn't it? The… demon or whatever it is."

Anders frowned, crossing his arms. "Justice isn't a demon." Hawke would figure it out sooner or later. Once he opened the book, saw what was written inside, it would be over. If he ran, they would give chase. Possibly kill him in the streets, put him down like a mad dog. Maybe if he stayed, confronted the issues, he could have a trial, possibly explain himself.

Oh, who was he kidding? No one would see what he was doing as good. No one would look at him and think him anything but a monster. The injustices of the world didn't stop at him, after all. The bell over the door interrupted his thoughts, Karl stepping through with a smile on his face that disappeared when he saw Anders.

"Everything all right?" he asked.

_Good old Karl,_ Anders thought, guilt and sadness weighing heavily in his chest. Karl, his one good friend he'd had since his days in the Circle, and he'd been lying to him this whole time. He couldn't stand to see what Karl would say if he found out.

"It's fine. Not today, all right? I just have some… difficult patients."

"Difficult pa-" Fenris started, and Hawke grabbed his wrist warningly.

Karl raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to get a guard?"

"No. That's not necessary. Could you possibly come back in an hour?" Maybe his two patients would be willing to talk. And if not, if he were to be hauled off, to be judged, he could write Karl a note beforehand. An apology.

"…All right. If you're sure."

"I'm sure." Anders watched him give one last look of concern before turning and leaving. "I'm just going to lock the door," he said to Fenris.

"Wait, what is going on," Hawke started, swinging his legs off the bed and standing up. "And… why am I naked?"

"Read. The. Journal," Fenris said through gritted teeth.

Anders bristled as the elf watched him carefully cross the clinic, extinguish the lanterns, and lock the door. He leaned back against the iron bars, crossing his arms, waiting. Hawke emerged from behind the partition, pulling on a flimsy clinic gown, the only thing Anders had in a larger size that would have likely fit him. Justice saw to it that he had to cut open Hawke's clothing to mend the wounds he created. The Champion of Kirkwall stood naked save for a gown that opened in back, clutching a book that contained all his secrets.

"So you're telling me," Hawke said, as he let the journal fall open in his hands, "that this guy, who looks nothing like the guy we saw last night, is the same-" He looked down at the journal.

Anders saw his eyes widen as he flipped through. "I… can explain."

"How can you be the man we saw last night?" Hawke asked, snapping the book shut, looking Anders up and down.

Anders felt himself blush under Hawke's scrutiny. "It's… complicated."

"Then start talking," Fenris growled, stepping forward.

"How did you find this?" Hawke asked Fenris, holding up the journal. He looked at Anders and held it up questioningly, then tossed it to him.

Confused, Anders nearly fumbled it. It was evidence against him. His entire confession lay bare among those pages, and Hawke was just… giving it back to him? Why? Or did he think he was just going to lure Anders into a false sense of security, then have his rabid elf pounce on him when his back was turned?

"It was in the back room," Fenris said, not taking his eyes off Anders.

"Out in the open?"

Fenris frowned. "Are you going to berate me for breaking into this… this _thing's_ office and finding damning evidence? Evidence that you just gave back to him, by the way. He should be locked up!"

Hawke looked at Fenris, then to Anders. He took a step forward and Anders embarrassedly felt himself try to step back, away from Hawke. He must've looked like a scared animal, shoved against the door as he was as a man whose backside was exposed to the world slowly approached him.

"…Hm."

"Hm?" Anders asked. Hawke was an arm's length away.

"You're cuter than the other guy."

Fenris growled. "Hawke!"

Anders let out a shaking laugh. "I ah… thank you? Look, I can explain it. It's… He didn't mean to attack you. You just… got in his way."

"You nearly killed us!" Fenris shouted. "Hawke-"

Hawke held up a hand, glancing back to Fenris. "Obviously they're not the same person, Fenris. 'Two-face man' remember?"

"I hate that nickname," Anders sighed.

"Let's start with your actual name, then," Hawke said. "Think you owe us that."

"It's Anders," he said. "Or it has been for a long time now. That's what everyone calls me."

"All right. You already know Fenris, and I'm Hawke." He held out a hand. "Nice to meet you, Anders."

Cautiously, Anders took it, feeling the calloused fingers beneath his own. "You too. I hope," he added.

Hawke winked. "We'll see, I guess."

Fenris made another low, growling noise.

"Your friend seems to hate me."

"He hates everyone," Hawke said, not letting go of his hand just yet. "So. How did you do that? Turn all blue and glowy, I mean."

"It's… a long story."

"Well," Hawke said, glancing back to Fenris, finally dropping Anders' hand. "We have time. Do you have coffee? And maybe pants?"

Anders sighed in quiet relief. "Yes, all right. Might as well make yourselves comfortable in the back. I just need to clean up here and then… I'll tell you the story."

"What do you know about Danarius?" Fenris demanded.

Anders' eyes widened, his mouth suddenly dry. "What about him?"

Hawke raised an eyebrow. "We were told by his apprentice that if we brought you to her, Danarius would give us information on a mad magister who's been reanimating the dead." He held up a hand quickly. "We, of course, had no intention of bringing you to her. She's dead now. So you don't have to worry about that. But if you have any information, it would help us track down the magister."

"Why does Danarius want you?" Fenris demanded. "Is it because of-"

"It's not so much that he wants me." Anders took a breath. "It's more that… he wants me back."


	10. Ring of Fire: Act 1

They always caught him in Ferelden. No one told him if he would ever see home again. He was young and missed his mother. They tried to explain that he would be in the Circle until he mastered his magic, until he was Harrowed, whatever that meant. Instead of acting out, he turned inward and refused to speak. Then he met Karl, the only person who seemed to have the patience to deal with his silence. Slowly he opened up, made friends and lost friends, and had as normal an existence as one could being locked in a tower. Whispers about the Harrowing filtered down toward him from the other apprentices. Whatever it was, it sounded terrifying, but apparently it was the only way to leave the Circle. A lot of mages stayed after, or returned once they left, unsure of what to do with themselves. Karl was a Harrowed mage who stayed to help teach. Anders thought him foolish.

_"When I leave here, I'm never coming back!"_

Then, they took Karl away from him. He was relocated to Kirkwall and Anders tried to escape a number of times, wanting to see him. On the last attempt, they threw him in solitary for a year. It was always a nameless templar delivering him his food. He didn't speak to the templar at first, pride and stubbornness holding his tongue. He didn't even like being near the cell doors when the food was slipped through the gap at the bottom of his cell. Then he would slowly start to greet him. Thank him for the meal. The templar said nothing. He eventually asked about his friends, wanting to know who was Harrowed, who stayed, who left. How was Karl? Did the First Enchanter want to see him at all? The templar remained silent. Yet that silent templar quickly became his best friend. Even if he never said anything back, twice a day Anders was reminded that other people existed.

When he was released they Harrowed him within the week. Anders stayed long enough to pack his things and say goodbye to the two or three friends he had left. With no money, no contacts, and no idea what he was going to do to survive, Anders started north. He wrote once to Karl, but was hesitant to visit him, to see him still attached to a Circle. He simply needed to get away from it, from the Chantry. He heard rumors of Tevinter, where mages could live free. Where the Circles weren't temporary prisons, but schools. He wasn't proud of the things he had to do to get to the Tevinter border, but it was better to survive outside the Circle than to return and submit. He thought briefly of returning home, but his father's anger, his mother's tears, the memory of a home lost to him… he knew he wouldn't be welcome. He was a mage, and for most that meant loneliness. Isolation.

Tevinter, it turned out, wasn't much better than the Circle. Mages didn't rule here, as he learned quickly. Just because you _could_ use magic, it didn't mean much. You might be a higher class, but what did that mean when you just a step above being a slave? He could sell himself, but the thought of subjecting himself to that… not yet. He was contemplating the block, the slaves sitting quietly, some of them in chains, others there voluntarily, he felt a sick feeling creep into his stomach.

"Thinking of purchasing?" came an oily voice in his ear.

Anders shuddered and looked up. Grey hair. Grey beard. Like Karl. But unlike Karl, this man lacked any warmth. The way he smiled set him on edge immediately. "No." Even if he had the money, he wouldn't have even entertained the thought.

"Of selling, then?"

"Are you?" Anders shot back.

The man chuckled. "Feisty. And a mage, yes, but not from here. Your accent is Fereldan?"

"What's it to you?" Maker, he was regretting ever coming here.

"My name is Danarius. I am a magister here in Minrathous and you, little bird, appear to be extremely lost."

Anders bristled at the familiarity in the nickname. "It's my first time in the city."

"Allow me to give you a warm welcome to our glorious capital, then. Dinner? No strings attached," Danarius said, hands spread in gesture of peace. "We'll talk. You listen to what I have to say and if you don't like it, you can leave and I'll wish you the best of luck in the city with no hard feelings. If you prefer my proposal, well… I think it might be the start of a very, very fine relationship."

Anders considered his options carefully. He could continue as he was, scraping for coin and sleeping in the streets. He could return to the Circle or move on to another city and hope his luck was better. Or, he could hear Danarius out. And while his instinct was to run far, far away from this man, Danarius was… well. He was clean. His robes were made of rich fabric. He could do worse than to strike a deal with him, couldn't he?

And with a nod, he sealed the next several years of his life.

-

"And I went with him," Anders said quietly and sipped his coffee.

They were sitting in the back room, Hawke leaning against the wall, Fenris settled in the large desk chair. Anders sat cross-legged on his bed, boots off, feeling exhausted. He cupped his mug between his hands, staring down at it, not wanting to see their reactions.

"Why in the Maker's good name did you go with him?" Hawke whispered.

"Because he didn't have a choice," Fenris said.

"Defending me now?" Anders asked, looking up. 

He tried to smile, feeling a little bitter about the whole situation. Here he was, spilling his past, all his secrets, to two people he'd only just met the night before. And he didn't even remember meeting them because of the blanks Justice left in his memories. But what other choice did he have now? Hawke wasn't a person who would simply let this go. People in his city were dying, even if they were templars. And the murderer was sitting right in front him. Yet, Hawke hadn't asked about that, hadn't questioned him about it, and there was no mention of an arrest. They just wanted to know more about him, about his past, about Danarius.

"I know what being with Danarius means."

Anders sucked in a breath. "What-"

"Fenris was an experiment of his," Hawke said and Anders caught the edge of anger in his tone.

"Thank you, Hawke. I can disperse the details of my own sordid past." But there was a hint of a smile on Fenris's lips before it disappeared. "I was his slave."

Anders winced. "I'm sorry."

Fenris scowled. "I don't want sympathy. I'm merely…"

"Fenris," Hawke said gently. "What I don't understand is how come you two never met?"

"I was with Danarius…" Anders trailed off, thinking. "The Blight hit Ferelden just as I was Harrowed and left. So many Fereldans were fleeing the country and I took a boat north. I met him the following year."

Fenris nodded. "I escaped shortly before that. He must've chosen you to replace me."

"Not a cheerful thought," Anders sighed. He wondered if Danarius now had someone else in his clutches.

"So what did he do exactly?" Hawke asked. "In order to make you turn into a giant, hulking, killing… I mean… ah, if…"

"Hawke is often tactless," Fenris offered.

Anders looked at Hawke, saw the sheepish grin, and felt himself blush a little. Something about him, the way he looked so apologetically at him. Or maybe it was because he was still wearing the clinic gown that left very little to the imagination. Either way, he tamped down on the attraction he felt. That part of him was over, taken from him by Danarius when he performed his experiments.

"I suppose it's only right I explain the rest of it," Anders sighed. "You've been so… nice." Even with Fenris spitting nails, demanding his head at first, Hawke calmed him down and they weren't judging him, weren't calling him names… anymore, at least. "Danarius was fascinated because I'm a Spirit Healer."

Hawke let out a whistle. "Really?"

Anders nodded. "And you? What are your specializations?"

"Anything destructive."

Fenris snorted.

"What?" Hawke protested. "It's true. All right. Elemental, mostly. Electricity specifically. And a bit of Force. Pushing, pulling, all that. My sister's better at it though."

Fenris sighed. "Yes, let's tell the entire world about your sister while we're sharing pasts."

Hawke shrugged. "It's not like it's a secret." He looked at Anders. "I'm the Champion of Kirkwall, after all."

"I'm sure he knows," Fenris interjected.

"Are you two-" Anders started, but stopped. If Fenris and Hawke were lovers, getting in between them was a bad idea. He would have an excuse to tamp down on his initial attraction to Hawke other than it simply just being a bad idea.

"What?" Hawke laughed. "Me and Fenris? No."

"Like it's that unfathomable," Fenris grumbled. Then he looked at Anders, narrowed eyes scrutinizing him. "Why?"

"Just curious," Anders said, perhaps a little too quickly.

"Fenris is a better brother to me than my own brother's ever been," Hawke said finally. "I saved his life."

"A fact which I've repaid ten times over," Fenris returned, grumpily. "Regarding the… other one," he said, more tactfully than Hawke.

"Yes. Justice." Anders sighed and ran his fingers back through his hair, wincing as he caught a tangle. "Danarius wanted to experiment with my abilities. And one day he went a little too far. He wanted to see if a spirit would take up inside my soul permanently. I didn't know that's what he was trying to do. I blacked out for three days. And when I woke up, I felt… different. I don't really remember much. I… I'm sorry."

"I cannot remember anything before Danarius 'gifted' these markings to me," Fenris said, stretching out his arms. "It's understandable."

Clearly the topic made him uncomfortable. Anders didn't press for more information. He felt the pull of the lyrium in Fenris's skin and examined it out of curiosity when he healed his wounds. If Anders hadn't seen Danarius's work first hand with himself, he would never have thought such a thing possible. And if he hadn't seen Fenris alive and walking around, he would never have believed someone could have survived it.

"Can't you control him?" Hawke asked.

"When I'm conscious," Anders said, turning back to look at him. "It's easier when I'm focused on something else, like my patients, or my writing."

"Writing?"

"My manifesto. It's…" He hesitated. Karl listened to him, made suggestions. He'd been working on it for nearly a year now, and it was always changing. "A call for the Chantry to answer for its transgressions and to reform the Circles. For support for mages after their Harrowing. Most of them are just dumped out on the street. Told, 'Good luck, Maker be with you!' and denied any kind of help." He took a breath, then waved his hand. "It's the journal on the desk. Blue cover."

"You should come with us."

Fenris's head snapped around to look at Hawke so fast, Anders wondered how he hadn't pulled a muscle. "Hawke."

"Why not?" Hawke said, crossing to the desk to pick up the manifesto.

Anders looked down at his coffee again to avoid taking a peek at Hawke's uncovered backside. "I have things to do here."

"Look," Hawke said, picking up the book with the blue cover before returning to his spot against the wall, "Hadriana knew where to find you. Danarius might send people to look for you. Soldiers. How safe are you here?"

"He can turn into a-"

Hawke held up a hand, and Fenris fell silent, though his glare spoke volumes. "Anders."

"Safe enough."

"With bars on the windows."

"And a trap door to the sewers," Fenris added begrudgingly.

Hawke approached, tossing the journal on the bed next to Anders. He knelt down to look at him. "Look. Come with us. We're going to need all the help we can get to fight Danarius."

"Wait," Fenris started, "are you saying-"

"Yes," Hawke said. "It's about time we paid that bastard a visit. He's got information I need. And you can't tell me a little revenge isn't in order."

Anders lifted a hand, massaging his breastbone where he felt Justice stirring.

"Think about the people it'll help," Hawke pressed. "Who's his next victim now that Fenris is gone? Now that you're gone? Can you honestly say that Thedas is a better place because Danarius is alive?"

Anders shook his head. Hawke was right. And if they were going anyway, he should be there to help. "What about Justice?"

Hawke shrugged. "We'll figure that out on the road."

"Hawke!"

"Fenris, I know my name," Hawke said patiently, glancing back at him. "If you'd rather stay in Kirkwall with Bethany, I'll send word for Carver and he can come instead."

There was a silent battle of wills. Anders watched as they exchanged glares and finally Fenris looked away, obviously angry.

"I… I have to tell Karl. And get my patients looked after. Speak to one of my benefactors." Lirene would need to be told. They would have to direct patients elsewhere or run the place without him. Who knew how long he would be gone? Or if he would even come back?

"I'll give you until tomorrow morning," Hawke said. "That enough time? Then we'll leave in the afternoon." He took the journal containing the manifesto, but left the one with Justice's writings. "For collateral. So you won't run off without me, and so you know I'll come back." He stood and winked.

Anders felt himself blush once more, and looked down at his coffee, cold now between his hands. "All right. Tomorrow."

"We'll see ourselves out. I'll ah… grab another gown on the way," Hawke added. "Kirkwall doesn't need the view of my ass."

Anders watched them leave, catching a glimpse of said ass, and smiled despite himself. Traveling across Thedas with two people he barely knew, one of whom seemed to dislike him intensely and the other who, let's face it, had it been a different point in his life, he might have jumped at the chance to sleep with. And Karl? How would explain this to him?

He took the journal that until this morning had been a complete secret, and tapped it idly against his knee. One more night. Hopefully he could control Justice. Hopefully Hawke knew what he was doing and his two new companions didn't end up as smears on the side of the Wounded Coast. He wouldn't be able to live with himself. Was he truly doing the right thing in leaving?

_Yes._

Sooner or later, he would've gotten caught. At least this way it was a chance for him to help others, so that they wouldn't befall the same fate as himself and Fenris. And after? Well… he would think about that when the time came.


	11. Ring of Fire: Act 2

They met Anders at the gates of Kirkwall early the next morning. He looked tired, Hawke thought, wearing a threadbare, stained coat. The crumpled feathers might have been fashionable at one time, but they'd long since lost their sheen. And Anders himself? Well, his initial attraction hadn't waned in a night. But Hawke admitted that Anders could've used a few square meals and a decent night's sleep. Still, that didn't take away from the days old stubble that gave him a distinguished sort of look, or the way his eyes squinted slightly when he smiled. And his smile, it didn't seem to be a natural sort of expression for him, but Hawke couldn't help returning it. And when Fenris nudged him, Hawke might have nudged him back a little too hard.

"Focus," Fenris said in an undertone.

Hawke scoffed. "Leave it."

They'd known each other too long. Fenris was familiar with his moods. And while he was usually rather jovial, it had been a long, long time since he'd felt attraction toward another. Ferelden, he thought. No Kirkwaller would get involved with a dog-lord, even if Hawke had been interested. And his being a mage didn't lend itself to romantic entanglements. More like a night at the Rose and a lighter coin purse in the morning. He didn't understand how Fenris could be content alone, either sitting by himself in a darkened room, or staring at the fire, or trying to work out another book that Bethany suggested to help practice his reading.

"Ready to go?" Hawke asked, making sure he didn't sound too eager.

"I think so," Anders replied, letting out a breath. He glanced back at Kirkwall.

"Going to miss it?"

"I'm not sure," Anders admitted.

Hawke was pleased when Anders fell into step with him. Fenris fell slightly behind as was his prerogative whenever he and Hawke had another join them. At first it made him uncomfortable, not wanting Fenris to think he needed to assume a subservient role. He was, of course, an equal in their partnership. Fenris assured him it was less a slave mentality and more about simply not wanting to join 'an inane conversation.' Hawke was used to his idle jabs at that point and let it go. If Fenris wanted to comment, he would.

"You'll miss it the first time you have to shit in the woods."

Behind him, Fenris sighed loudly.

But Anders chuckled. "Yes, I suppose. The people I've met there, the ones who've supported me, I'll miss them. Though perhaps not the city."

"Do you miss Ferelden?" Hawke asked, not wanting to let the conversation die. He wanted to know more about Anders. If pressed, he would say it was because they were traveling together, because Anders had a dangerous spirit inside him. But really, he didn't do that good of a job of hiding the real reason.

"Parts of it. Not the Circle. Were you in Fereldan's Circle? I don't remember seeing you there."

Hawke shrugged. "I… ah. I was never part of a Circle."

"What?" Anders asked, startled. "What do you…"

"My father," Hawke explained. "He was in the Gallows here. After he was Harrowed, he stayed to help teach, but he met my mother and decided to leave. I was born in Ferelden. Far enough off the map that the templars didn't bother searching the village for us. When I was six I froze my bed to the wall and my father started teaching me how to control it. Then when Bethany was born and she came into her magic, we practiced together."

"Why not stay in Ferelden?" Anders asked. "The Blight?"

"My father was born there, so he knew it well. After he died, it just… hm. Odd to be there without him. And the Blight made the decision for us."

"When did you meet Fenris?" Anders asked carefully, glancing back at him, possibly feeling bad for leaving him out.

Fenris grunted in response.

"Not until later," Hawke continued. "We came to Kirkwall during the Blight and met… when did we meet, Fenris?"

"Nine thirty-three."

Hawke caught Anders' eye. He looked concerned at Fenris's quiet demeanor. Hawke grinned at him. "Don't worry about Fenris. He keeps a lot of thoughts in his head."

"One of us has to," Fenris muttered.

"Except when he's insulting me. Thanks, friend."

Another grunt.

Anders laughed cautiously. "I… see. So when you came to Kirkwall?"

"Bethany went to the Circle to become Harrowed. I didn't." It was something of a surprise every day that Meredith never had him hauled off to the Gallows to be forced into it. Then again, he supposed if you faced slavers, blood mage vampires, and horrors every day in the city, not to mention the Qunari Arishok, being forced into the Fade to fight one little demon was inconsequential. "She was… pretty bad after. What's it like?"

Anders shuddered. "You've heard what it's like. Imagine that and increase it tenfold."

He clearly didn't want to talk about it. Hawke fell silent, uncomfortable, thinking about what it would be like to be forced into the Fade under those circumstances. He'd gone many times before but in dreams. Lyrium was difficult to come by when they were in Ferelden and he never had much use for the spirits in the Fade beyond the use of his spells. In truth, he was always a little wary of them, as any of them could be demons waiting to possess him. Paranoia, possibly, but it was warranted. But the fear he had for spirits and demons wasn't as great as that he had for templars. Despite what his father taught him, that men are simply men and their jobs didn't define them, Hawke saw and heard more abuses from men in armor than any other group. It was true for templars and it was true for city guardsmen.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that."

"It was a long time ago."

"Did Justice come out last night?" Hawke asked abruptly, thinking about the night ahead of them. He usually pushed through the night with Fenris in his wolf form guiding him and slept for a few hours in the mornings when it was cooler.

"I… he… no. I don't think so. There were no notes," Anders said finally. "You can…"

"Hm?"

Anders took a breath. "You can use a static cage on me at night if you want."

Hawke paused. "That's kinky." His mind suddenly filled with visions of Anders being restrained by magic, preferably in his bed, and sitting over top of him doing rather naughty things…

Fenris huffed. "It might be a good idea."

"What?" Hawke asked, shaking himself from his fantasies. "No! Absolutely not."

"Restraints might be necessary," Anders said reluctantly.

"We should get to know one another a little better first," Hawke joked. But no one laughed. "Oh come on! Lighten up. I'm sure it'll be fine. You said Justice didn't come out last night. Maybe it was just the stench of the sewer that gets him riled up. We're out here on the coast now, we'll be at the base of the mountains by nightfall. Fresh air does a spirit good."

Anders shook his head, but he was laughing quietly. "Does nothing upset you, Hawke?"

Hawke thought about this. There were upsetting moments in his life. Quite a few of them. His father's death. His mother's murder. The Arishok. The whole Qunari invasion and how badly the city handled it. Isabela leaving after he spared her life. As if that was ever in question, though. He did wonder what happened to her, whether or not she gave up on piracy. He spared another thought for his lost friend before remembering that Anders was still waiting for a response.

"Oh not much, I think. Life's too short to worry for long about the little things."

"An abomination is hardly a 'little thing'," Fenris said.

"Easy," Hawke returned, looking back at him. "I could've easily decided that a shapeshifting lyrium werewolf elf isn't worth the trouble."

"Er, werewolf?" Anders asked.

"Oh." Right. Anders didn't know. They hadn't told him. Well, the wolf was out of the bag now. Hawke chuckled internally at his joke. "The marks. Danarius." He shrugged. He would let Fenris explain it if he wanted to.

Anders looked back at Fenris. "Does it hurt? I could probably create a potion to-"

Fenris shook his head. "Not anymore. Much. It's… I don't want to discuss it."

"Well good," Hawke said. "We won't talk about your lyrium lycanthropy and we won't talk about Anders' forced abomination-hood. The clouds are pretty today, aren't they?"

Fenris snorted. "Hawke."

Hawke grinned, then nudged Anders. "You'll get used to it."

"To what?"

"His horrible attempts at humor," Fenris grumbled.

"So," Hawke said, changing tact with another grin. "I wouldn't expect someone like you to be attached. But that Karl… Not a bad catch." He could hear Fenris behind him, muttering under his breath, and chose to ignore it. Flirting was not his forte. 

Anders blushed faintly, leaning on his staff as the trail turned rocky and started to incline. "We… well, we've known one another since the Circle. He stayed on to teach and now he's doing the same in Kirkwall. After I left Ferelden and… and Danarius," he added, slightly quieter. He cleared his throat. "We met back up in Kirkwall, but no. Other things took priority. There hasn't been anyone in a long time."

"Perfect!"

"Sorry?"

"Well, you're available. And I'm-"

"Annoying," Fenris cut in. "Hawke, we have a job to do."

"Right, right," Hawke said dismissively. "But Tevinter is still quite a long ways off and if I want to flirt with our attractive new friend, I will. That is, unless he objects to it." He looked at Anders. "Do you?" He hoped Anders would say no. Even if nothing came of it, Anders was nice to look at. And despite his friendship with Fenris, it was sometimes difficult to talk about magic with him without the conversation turning serious. Even Bethany preferred to speak of it in an academic sense rather than philosophical or theoretical. He felt like he hadn't had a proper conversation about magic in a long time. Not since his father.

Anders shook his head and smiled, though it was a bit sad. "I don't mind. Just… don't expect much back."

"Fair's fair," Hawke said. He wasn't sure what he would have done if Anders felt uncomfortable. Stopped, most likely. Then things might have gotten awkward. But if Anders objected, he would have at least known where he stood on the matter. Was Anders interested? "Sorry, what?" he said, vaguely realizing that Anders was talking again.

"What information does Danarius have?" Anders repeated patiently.

"Fenris and I've been tracking a Tevinter magister who's been reanimating the dead. Sending hordes of walking corpses to attack at random. He's been gathering a following, too. Random agents, blood mage vampires usually, that'll do just about anything he says."

"Blood mage… vampires?" Anders asked. "I've never heard of-"

"Dangerous things," Hawke said. "Fenris knows more about them than I do." He glanced over his shoulder. Fenris adjusted the pack on his back, gripping the straps, head down. "…I guess I could try to explain." He sighed, thinking. "Vampires used to be just myths or… abominations," he said carefully. He wasn't sure if Anders truly qualified as an abomination. What he knew of the literal definition pertained to demonic possession. Perhaps that would be a conversation for another day.

"Hunger demons," Anders acknowledged. "They taught us in the Circle. But those demons mostly possess corpses."

"Blood mages call upon the aid of hunger demons," Fenris broke in. "I saw it happen with Danarius. When he forced one of his slaves to become one."

"What happened to him?" Anders asked, his tone heavy with sympathy.

"He became possessed. He wasn't strong enough to fight it. Danarius locked him up to keep him away from the others." Fenris paused, frowning. "He ate himself to death."

Hawke, who heard the story only once before, winced. Fenris elaborated on the story once before and Hawke had no desire to hear it again. He hoped Anders would not ask for more information.

"That… that's…"

"Turning my stomach," Hawke said. "So let's not talk about it. But these mages found another way to gain in power. Not just using blood but drinking it."

"But the possession-"

Hawke shook his head. "Not sure how it works, honestly. But they're not possessed. They've changed themselves physically. All the trappings of regular lore – sunlight kills them, water blessed by a Chantry priest will hurt them. Symbols of faith repel them."

"Symbols of faith?"

"All and any powerful symbols of faith," Hawke clarified. "Provided the wielder believes in it. I could wave a pendant of Andraste at the stake and would be as potent as tossing sand in their face." He paused. "Actually, the sand would probably work better, for all I believe in the bullshit the Chantry spouts."

"You don't believe in the Maker?" Anders asked.

Hawke shrugged. What kind of god lets things like blood magic sacrifices happen? And that was only one of the many atrocities committed across Thedas. "Don't know. But if the Maker exists? He sure as shit isn't listening to any of us. So that's why it's up to us to make it better."

"Be careful," Fenris said from behind them. "When he becomes noble, it's almost as bad as his humor."

Anders laughed lightly. "I don't think I mind either one."

Hawke tried not grin stupidly, and silently hoped that Anders would be around for a long time to come.


	12. Ring of Fire: Act 3

Anders knew they took turns watching him while he slept. He asked again for the static energy cage, though he wasn't sure if even that would subdue Justice. Hawke was vehemently against it, and while Fenris might have agreed, he wasn't a mage and couldn't cast the spell. He was also inclined to listen to Hawke and his reasoning. Whatever reasoning that was. He wasn't sure why Hawke trusted him. Hawke was a bit of an anomaly. Most people would either shy away from him, knowing he was a mage, or be grateful that he could heal them free of charge. Anders was happy to take care of their wounds, and hopeful that it meant one more person would see the benefits of magic and not the propaganda that the Chantry spouted against them. And if that one person convinced a friend and so on, then all the better. Hawke didn't shy away, nor did he seem to want to take advantage.

As they traveled, he slept better than he had in months, even though it was on a bedroll in the woods by the fire rather than on his own mattress in the clinic. It was nearly dawn when he woke up one morning, barely opening his eyes as he heard Hawke humming quietly. He was tending the fire, building it up. Across the camp, Fenris lay in his wolf form – and it was fascinating to see him change – facing away. Hawke was shirtless, his hair damp, wearing just a pair of leather pants as he mixed together some kind of breakfast for them. Anders stayed quiet, the blanket pulled up just below his nose as he watched.

Maker. The man had to know how gorgeous he was. Well-muscled for a mage and broad-shouldered, he had the complexion of a Fereldan, slightly tanned, skin a bit weathered. Dark hair covered his chest, thinning down his midline and then darkening again at the trail from his navel to his… Anders pulled the blanket up a bit more, covering a blush. Hawke heard the movement, looked over, and grinned widely.

"Morning," he whispered. "Making fry cakes. You want some?"

Anders sat up, hair falling loosely around his face as he stretched. He didn't miss the way Hawke looked at him, the subtle flick of his eyes down to his lips and back up. How he wished he would've met Hawke years ago. If he'd been at the Circle, no doubt they would've had many lovely tumbles in the sheets. Or in a dark hall. Or anywhere, really. Anders hadn't been picky. But now, things were different. Justice constantly pulled at his thoughts, and he didn't have room for any 'distractions'.

"You keep ingredients in your bag for fry cakes?"

Hawke shrugged. "I keep the eggs in an unbreakable box. It's got cooling runes. You should meet my butler's son. He's a genius with enchantments."

They were keeping their voices down, barely above a whisper so as not to wake Fenris. The resulting ambience was a quiet, intimate conversation. Anders shivered, pulling his coat around his shoulders, hesitated, then decided to move closer to Hawke and the fire.

"How many do you want?" Hawke asked, setting the frying pan down. He added butter, and then started to cook. The smell was divine.

"As many as you're not going to eat," Anders said, his stomach growling.

"Justice didn't make an appearance yet," Hawke said carefully.

"He's been quiet," Anders confirmed. "I believe he realizes we're doing something important."

"Are you worried about going back?" Hawke glanced over to Fenris, who made a quiet noise in his sleep, limbs kicking at random as if he was running, deep in a dream.

"A little," Anders admitted. "As bad as the Circle was… I was so stupid to have agreed."

"Hey." Hawke frowned. He reached over and cupped Anders under the ear, fingers pressing at the back of his head, forcing him to look over. "You were desperate. You made a decision for yourself. And it's not like the Chantry ever gave you a fair shot. But it's changed now, yeah?"

Anders shrugged, feeling the warm, calloused thumb brushing his cheek. "I suppose."

"Once we kill the bastard, you can come live with me."

"What?" Anders laughed softly. "Hawke, no. I have a place now."

"You sleep where you work," Hawke said. "That's not 'a place'." He let his hand drop and Anders missed the contact at once. "You'll work at the clinic and you'll sleep in one of my guest rooms. I'm serious. I have a huge estate and Bethany's alone."

"Except for your servants."

"Servant. One," Hawke corrected. "And he's less a servant and more of… hm. I saved his kid's life and he was grateful. They have a place to stay until they figure out where they want to go. Bethany's pretty self-sufficient anyway. And if they leave, she'll be really lonely. So you can keep her company."

"You're not afraid I'll seduce her with my wily charms?" Anders asked, before he could stop himself.

Hawke looked at him seriously for a moment before grinning that same dopey, enthusiastic grin. "Nah."

"Oh. Thanks. I'm not attractive enough for your sister?"

"No," Hawke said, flipping the fry cakes. "What I mean is that there's no way you would go for her."

"Why's that?" Anders asked, taking the wooden plate that Hawke handed him.

"Because you've already met me. And I'm irresistible." Hawke winked.

Anders watched him lick an errant bit of batter from his thumb and swallowed hard.

"Mm. You know what?" Hawke asked, filling another two plates with the cakes.

"Hm?" Anders asked, trying to focus.

"I think that…" Hawke leaned forward, into his personal space.

Anders' eyes widened. What did Hawke think he was doing? He leaned closer still, one hand reaching up to cup his face again. Anders turned away quickly. No. This was a bad, bad, **bad** idea. Heart racing, he didn't have the nerve to look at Hawke, and imagined the hurt expression from the very obvious rejection. Justice swirled in his chest, or at least he thought it was Justice, whispers in his mind about distractions and getting off task. He could never have a proper conversation with Justice, not without him coming out and writing in the journal. 

But _Maker_ it wasn't fair. Hawke was willing. What was wrong with a kiss? They'd only known each other a short while and most of it was hiking and camping, they spent a lot of time talking. He learned more about Hawke's parents, how they met, how they died. About his brother and how Carver was trying to make a name for himself. About the good work Hawke had done for Kirkwall and Thedas in general. Fenris chimed in occasionally, and while he seemed irritated at Hawke's flirting, it was more protectiveness than jealousy. Anders thought he understood that.

And really, what was wrong with just a kiss? He looked at Hawke, who kept his eyes on his plate, shredding the cake into bite sized pieces, popping them into his mouth. The smile was gone, and Anders missed it. Setting his own plate aside, despite his stomach's protests, he reached over, touching Hawke's wrist. Hawke looked up. Anders, nervous, heart beating heavily, pulled Hawke's hand to his lips, and ate the piece of fry cake, tongue flickering over his fingers. Hawke's eyebrows shot up, his own lips parting. Anders chewed and swallowed carefully, hoping he didn't look foolish. It had been far too long since he flirted with anyone, and Karl didn't count.

"Maker," Hawke breathed, and it was Anders who leaned close this time.

Eyes closed, Anders felt the brush of Hawke's lips against his own so briefly before the fire flared up, an ember popping and crackling, and then Fenris yelped.

"Shit!" There was a surge of magic, the fire calming, and Fenris – who transformed back to his elven form – was standing, glaring. One pant leg was singed. "Sorry!" Hawke exclaimed.

"What did you do?" Fenris growled.

"Got um. Made a mistake. With the fire. Magic," Hawke muttered. "Breakfast?"

Anders suddenly realized. Their kiss or maybe just the proximity had Hawke so nervous he accidentally fueled the fire, so to speak. He pressed his lips together to keep from laughing, positive that Hawke wouldn't appreciate that. Wordlessly he took up his plate again and continued to eat, leaving Fenris to grouse and Hawke to apologize. But internally? He was very, very pleased.

-

" _That's_ his house?" Hawke asked, gaping.

They looked up at it, at the familiar pillars, the grand front door flanked by dragons, all the terraces with their intricately carved balustrades and the lawn with its impeccable landscaping. In the moonlight, the topiary appeared almost alive, cut to look like serpentine dragons, manticores and chimeras. There was even a Cerberus, large shined onyxes for eyes glittering ominously as they crept by.

"No accounting for taste," Hawke scoffed.

"It's… changed so much since I've been back," Fenris said, clearly unsettled.

"You haven't missed much," Anders replied in distaste. "There should be a servants' entrance that we can break into. Provided you can pick locks," he added to Hawke.

While it wasn't his specialty, Hawke learned a trick or three on his travels. Lock picking and purse cutting were two of his most useful non-magic skills. "I should be able to get us in, no problem."

They kept low as they crossed the lawn, Hawke feeling Fenris transform silently next to him. On his other side, Anders was close enough so that their fingers brushed. His heart leapt, and he forced himself to concentrate. Since that painfully brief kiss before he nearly set the camp – and Fenris – on fire, he couldn't stop thinking about what it would be like to kiss him properly. And do other things. Many other enjoyable, wonderful things. He tripped over a rock, Anders there to grab him before he fell.

"Careful," Anders whispered.

Fenris butted his head into his leg, and Hawke was glad he couldn't talk. He was sure Fenris would have something to say about that.

_Right. Focus._

They found the servants' entrance that Anders referred to, a simple wooden door that appeared at the end of a long, winding path that led to a cobblestone street. Convenient for picking up post and deliveries. The good thing about it was that the lock was a simple one. The bad thing was that it was dead bolted as well from the other side. Hawke swore.

"Fenris, it's on you."

If wolves could roll their eyes, Hawke was sure Fenris would have done it now. He watched as the wolf shifted into mist and disappeared through the door.

"Handy sort of trick," Anders acknowledged.

"Doesn't work on everything," Hawke said. "Flesh and bone and most wood. Nothing that's enchanted, and metal's a bit tricky sometimes. Cave walls are also usually a no go. But we're still working out the details."

"Maybe Danarius will have some kind of research material on it. We can search his library once we've… we…"

"Kill him," Hawke finished, as the locked clicked and the door opened. "We're going to kill the bastard."

Anders nodded, and Hawke reached out, gripping his hand and squeezed it tightly. Fenris, in his wolf form, looked at their entwined hands, huffed, and trotted into the room. Hawke sighed and followed. He would likely want to have a conversation with Fenris about it. About whatever his feelings for Anders were. An initial spark of attraction. Perhaps sex. Nothing that would be too distracting from their goal. He would reassure his friend that RTD was the main priority here. And anyway, Anders hadn't seemed too inclined to take him up on his earlier offer of a place to stay. Frustrating as it was, it was probably for the best. After they killed Danarius, Anders would return to his clinic and he and Fenris would continue their search.

The kitchens were deserted, though Hawke was sure the cooks would be up in short time, preparing for the day. Unless Danarius was a late riser and Fenris assured him that he wasn't. If Hawke was at home, he scarcely rolled out of bed before noon. He followed Fenris carefully, the whitish blue luminescence leaving a trail in the dark behind him. Anders gripped onto the sleeve of his coat, like Hawke, unable to see in the darkness. Fenris knew the way either by heart or by smell, and Hawke didn't question it. They climbed the stairs away from the kitchens and the servants' quarters into a large hallway. It was at least fifteen feet wide and possibly twice as tall, stretching out in either direction, doors lining their left side while tall windows occupied the right. The lush red carpet was thick underfoot, and busts of long dead mages stared at them, unnerving Hawke as they walked past.

"His bedroom's one floor up," Anders whispered. "Hawke, what's your plan?"

"We take him by surprise. Subdue him. Get the information, then kill him."

"Wait, that's your plan?"

Hawke was about to defend himself when suddenly the floor dropped out from underneath them. He shouted, hearing Fenris's surprised yelping, and Anders' grip on his arm increased painfully. Wind rushed past them as they fell fast through the darkness. They landed in a wide net, unharmed, but winded and confused.

"What in the Maker's name-" Hawke started, then cut off as the lights came on, so bright he had to hold up his arm to shield against it.

The room they were in was white marble, the walls covered in scratches, deep gouges as if a particularly large animal had tried to claw its way out. And the only way out he could see was the hole they fell down. He rolled out of the net and gained his feet, and set to exploring the room.

"Oubliette?" Anders suggested.

"Orlesian? No thanks," Hawke said idly.

Fenris transformed, a scowl on his face. "It's a pit people are thrown into and forgotten about."

"Nothing that serious!" came a voice that caused them all to jump.

A panel in one of the walls opened. A thick pane of glass separated them from a Dalish elf, who was looking at them with her wide, pale green eyes and a curious expression.

"Hello!"

"Er. Hi," Hawke said awkwardly. "Could you possibly let us out?"

"Oh, no, I'm sorry I can't do that. You see, Master Danarius says that anyone who comes in uninvited has to run the Gauntlet. I'm Merrill. I'm in charge of the Gauntlet."

"The Gauntlet?" Hawke looked to Anders, who shook his head, confused, then to Fenris. "Fenris?"

Fenris looked terrified, eyes wide, breathing heavily. Hawke grabbed his shoulder, and Fenris looked at him. "It's…"

"We'll get you ready in just a minute!" Merrill promised. "Sit tight for now. Do you need anything? Glass of water?"

"…Thanks, we're fine," Hawke said, trying not to snap.

"Less than a minute!" Merrill promised, and the panel slid back into place.

Hawke looked at Fenris. "What's the Gauntlet?"

"Nothing we wish to participate in."

"Great," Anders sighed. "So. What's the plan now?"

Hawke, unfortunately, had no idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update today! Totally forgot. Tuesday will be the next chapter. :)


	13. Are You Not Entertained?: Act 1

Merrill was annoyingly chipper. Under any other circumstance, it might have been hard to hate her. However, she was brandishing a small writing board and a pen, appearing to be way too enthusiastic for whatever was about to transpire. They were ushered into the next room, which was full of all sorts of weapons and armor. Hawke had a momentary surge of excitement until he realized that most of the items were junk. He picked up a broadsword that was too dull to slice even the softest cheese, and tossed it aside with disgust.

"Oh don't worry. You'll get proper weapons. But you're a mage, aren't you?" she asked. "You won't want a sword." She checked her notes. "Let's see. Oh! Anders, you're back!"

"Sorry, do I know you?" Anders asked, unable to keep the disgust from his tone.

"We met briefly once before Danarius put the spirit inside you. You don't remember? Well, you were a bit out of sorts after that, so I don't blame you."

Anders narrowed his eyes dangerously, fingers flexing into fists.

"Danarius says you can't use that power here. Dampening wards in the walls," she said, gesturing with her quill pen at the walls. "So he can't come out and ruin the fun."

"What are you blathering about?" Fenris snapped, striding forward.

Merrill let out a surprised squeak and stepped back, pinned against the wall as Fenris's face came inches away from hers. "I just get the intruders ready!" she said quickly. "Really, you shouldn't have been snooping around in the first place, and it's all very legal, you see!"

"Legal!?" Hawke barked, stepping forward. Though he was often pleased to strike fear in the hearts of his enemies, the terrified look on Merrill's face was far from satisfactory. "How is this legal?"

Merrill cleared her throat and flipped through some papers. "According to Tevinter law, statute-"

"Skip it," Hawke sighed. "What are we doing?"

"Well there are several tiers to the Gauntlet. If you beat all the tiers, you win!" she said excitedly.

"What do we win?" Hawke said, taking the bait.

"Freedom," Anders guessed.

"Power," Fenris said quietly.

"That's right!" Merrill said. "Power."

Hawke felt the temperature of the room plummet as he started to realize exactly how fucked they all were. No matter what happened, they were either going to die at the hands of whatever was in the Gauntlet, or live long enough to be experiments of Danarius's. And in the case of his companions, what did that mean? Would Danarius kill them out of spite? Hawke was determined not to let that happen. He would not allow Danarius to take them back. If he'd only had a better plan, if he'd been more prepared.

"We'll start by removing your clothes then," Merrill said, in the same cheerful voice.

"Sorry, what?" Hawke asked, thinking he misheard her, lost in thought about escaping.

"Your clothes." She inched away from Fenris and set her writing board down, opened a bag and withdrew what looked like three strips of fabric. "Loincloths!"

"Are you serious?"

Merrill's smile faltered. "Well, yes. I would hardly joke about loincloths." She set them down on a table and fished out a large bottle, setting that next to them. "And oil. You have fifteen minutes while we ready the Gauntlet. Good luck!"

Before Hawke could say anything else, she disappeared through a door opposite, leaving them to stare at the costumes left on the table. "Maker's breath, she is serious."

Fenris started to strip.

"Fenris, what are you doing?" Hawke asked, still in complete disbelief.

"The sooner we get this over with, the sooner we can confront Danarius. If he means to 'gift' us with more powers, I intend very much on thanking him properly." His voice was hard, a steel edge that left nothing to the imagination as to exactly how Fenris would thank his former master.

Hawke looked at Anders, who was setting his staff aside and starting to strip as well. "You're serious," Hawke asked. "Really?"

"Fenris is right," Anders said, his face stoic. "Danarius always did like pageantry. We kowtow to his whims now, fight through it, and come out victorious. Then, we tear him limb from limb."

"I like the way you think, mage," Fenris said, with a feral grin. He peeled off his leggings and took one of the bits of fabric, winding it around his waist, cupping his genitals, and tied it off.

Hawke gaped. And then he realized Anders was shirtless, and his brain stopped working momentarily.

"Could you…" Anders blushed faintly.

Fenris rolled his eyes but turned around. Then he grabbed Hawke's arm and yanked him around as well. Hawke started to undress, fear and uncertainty juxtaposed with uncomfortable arousal. He was down to his smalls when he picked up the loincloth, which was a large, long strip of fabric, and realized he had no idea what he was doing. He turned to Anders, who had his tied off and was reaching for the oil.

"Er, I-"

Fenris grabbed the cloth from him. "Strip."

"I really hate you," Hawke hissed quietly, and dropped his smalls.

He felt like an overgrown child as Fenris tied the fabric around his waist, and hoped it wasn't too degrading. He glanced over his shoulder, and grinned to see Anders staring at his ass. Amber eyes detached themselves quickly, Anders snapping his head up before blushing a little. Hawke, smirking, rifled through the pockets of his own coat and pulled out the runestone that allowed him to communicate with his father's friend. With an internal apology, he slipped the stone into his loincloth and felt it smooth and cold against his groin.

"I'll explain that later," Hawke said, as Anders gave him an odd look. He didn't want to chance losing the stone. Everything else in his clothing was replaceable.

Anders handed Hawke the bottle. "Get my back?"

"With pleasure," Hawke said. _If I'm going to die in the next twenty minutes, I might as well go out having fun._

He took the bottle and poured a generous amount in his palm then set to work sliding his hands all over Anders' shoulders, arms, and back. He heard Fenris grumbling behind him, snatching the bottle up himself. Hawke couldn't help massage the muscles he felt beneath his fingers, letting them work down Anders' spine, over his hips. He grabbed the bottle back from Fenris, then knelt and started doing each of Anders' legs.

"So… Danarius likes his warriors well-oiled," Hawke said. "Bit of a pervert."

"You have no idea." This from both Anders and Fenris at the same time.

Fenris scowled and turned away huffily, crossing his arms as Hawke continued. Under any other circumstances, he would've had Anders out of the loincloth by now, cock in his mouth, making him moan.

_Dead kittens. Meredith's saggy tits. Orsino's flabby ass. Aveline. Oh there we go._

The arousal that built up went away as he tried to focus on anything but the gorgeous man in front of him. He traced the scars on his back, frowning, and decided that he wouldn't ask about them now.

"Done?" Anders asked, his voice heavy.

"Well you're all oiled up, but I don't think I could ever be done touching you," Hawke said, congratulating himself on his own smoothness.

Anders turned, smirking. "Oil."

Hawke handed it to him automatically, then realized Anders meant to give him the same treatment. Not even the thought of Aveline in skimpy Orlesian panties could stop the surge of arousal now. Anders' hands were soft against his skin, the oil slippery over his flesh. He kept his eyes up, focused on the wall in front of him and not the gorgeous man touching nearly every inch of his body. Anders did his back next, then knelt, and Hawke glanced down at the blond head so very near his cock. Which was creating a very obvious bulge in the flimsy loincloth. Thankfully Anders was tactful enough not to say anything, and it was over far too soon.

"Are you quite finished?" Fenris asked. "We're starting."

"What should we expect?" Hawke asked, as the door slid open, Merrill on the other side.

"Don't you all just look great!"

Fenris scowled. "Pain. Monsters, unimaginable. Demons. And no mercy."

"It'll be fine," Hawke said. "Like a dinner at the de Launcet's. I can handle it."

"Just keep telling yourself that," Fenris said quietly as Merrill waved them through.

Anders reached up to squeeze Hawke's shoulder. "I won't let anything happen to you or Fenris. No matter what happens, I'm still a healer. He won't take away our magic."

Hawke nodded, the weight of Anders' hand comforting, and he followed Fenris out of the room and into the Gauntlet.


	14. Are You Not Entertained?: Act 2

The Gauntlet was a large, deep, sandy pit with high marble walls. Near the top, Hawke saw an observation deck encased in glass. Likely enchanted against spells and physical attacks, he thought. The walls were decorated with carvings of ancient Tevinter gladiators. They were depicted as heroes, victorious, fighting lions and demons and other fantastical beasts. Hawke wondered if Danarius meant to recreate the days of old in this pit. Then he saw the claw marks, the same deep gouges in the walls, and wondered further just what in the Maker's name caused them.

Then again, he didn't really want to know.

"My wards alerted me to your presence," came a loud, oily voice from high above them.

They looked up and saw a figure in the observation deck. Fenris immediately stepped back, and Hawke moved in front of him protectively. Anders did not move, but Hawke felt him tense, the discomfort now palpable. He'd never seen Danarius before. If he hadn't known what the man standing above them was capable of, he would've laughed at him. Easily more than twice Hawke's age, grey hair and beard, Danarius had the appearance of someone's grandfather, but none of the warmth that came with the word.

"Fenris. It's so good to see you again, pet. Had I known you would return to me willingly, I wouldn't have spent all that coin trying to get you back. But I see you've found a new master. The Champion of Kirkwall, I'm informed. Well done indeed. I do hope you intend on paying me for him, Champion."

"I would," Hawke said, "if Fenris was a _thing_. As he happens to be a person, you're not getting a single copper."

Danarius smirked, turning his attention to Anders. His expression softened. "Welcome back, little bird."

Anders' face flushed bright red. Where Fenris looked angry, Anders simply appeared to be embarrassed. Hawke frowned, not knowing what transpired between them. Fenris would tell the occasional tale, depending on his level of sobriety. Whatever happened, it was nothing good. He touched Anders' hand, trying to get him to focus.

"Merrill, be a dear and provide my pets with proper weapons. The Champion can do without. We'll see if he's as talented as they say."

"Right away," Merrill's voice filtered into the room.

Another panel in the wall opened and a staff and a sword were ejected through the hole, both landing in the sand with a quiet thump. Anders picked up both, handing the latter to Fenris, who took it silently.

"What are the terms of this Gauntlet?" Hawke demanded. Not that he thought Danarius would play by any rules he set out in the first place. A man like him would surely change them to suit his whims.

"Stay alive and I reward you," Danarius said simply.

Hawke glared. "Reward us how? By experimenting on us? By sticking lyrium or spirits into our bodies?"

"Are you going to be as ungrateful as my previous pets, Champion?"

Merrill appeared next to Danarius. "The dogs are ready."

"Very good. Well, as they say," Danarius said, waving a hand idly, a nasty smile touching his lips, "release the hounds."

Fenris moved in front of both Anders and Hawke as another hidden door opened. Hawke was about to protest, but three vicious looking hounds leapt into the room. Fenris swung with his sword, the weapon too blunt to draw blood, but the power behind it knocked the dogs back. Blood red fur with black heads, their fangs sharp and vicious, they looked like mabari hounds bred in the Black City. Thin snaps of electric wire formed between Hawke's fingers and he flicked his hand out, his magic coursing through them. It was a trick he learned as a child, one that his father taught him to control so he wouldn't accidentally remove a finger or another important limb. The dogs recovered quickly, one heading directly for Fenris, another toward Anders, and the third leveled itself at Hawke.

Hawke didn't have time to keep an eye on his companions, but knew Fenris could hold his own. Anders, he hoped, could fight as well as heal without the aid of Justice. If the walls hadn't been enchanted to suppress the spirit, Hawke thought they might have simply let him take over. The demon dogs would lose their heads in seconds. He had to focus now, ducking the clumsy leap from the dog, and knew the enemies Danarius set against them would only increase in power. This was just the warmup.

He leapt back, using a pulse of force magic to propel him away from the dog that jumped at him again, eating the sand as it crashed-landed. It got up, shook itself off, and growled menacingly at Hawke, who merely laughed. The electric wires danced with him, catching the hound in midair. A surprised yelp echoed against the pit's walls as Hawke funneled his magic through the wires that wrapped around the hound's red fur, singeing it. He yanked hard, pulling it to the ground, slamming it against the sand where its body convulsed, the magic coursing through its veins. He spared a moment's compassion for the beast, wondering if it had just been another victim of Danarius's experiments. Looking up in time to see Fenris taking a powerful swing, hacking another hound's head messily from its shoulders, he turned his focus to Anders.

"Anders!"

The hound had him on his back, staff in both hands, holding the creature up just out of biting range. Anders' arms were trembling with the effort of keeping the huge hound off him, and Hawke ran full force at it, knocking it to the ground. He felt the sand scrape his knees when he brought it down, and with a fist full of electricity, punched it in its snout. It yelped, loud and high-pitched, then growled, deep and guttural, its back legs kicking at Hawke.

"Hawke, move!"

Hawke released the hound and rolled away, narrowly avoiding a blast of ice, the cold making him shiver uncontrollably. The hound, frozen from the neck down, struggled against the icy prison. With a cry, Fenris ran forward, swinging his sword, and shattered the ice. Hawke felt the shards glance off his skin and turned away to shield his face. The hound's head rolled to a stop in the sand where its eyes blinked confusedly for a few seconds, then lay still and quite dead. Fenris leaned down and grabbed his wrist, hauling him to his feet.

"You're bleeding."

"Yeah well. Some asshole decided to shatter a winter's grasp prison in my face," Hawke snapped.

Fenris frowned.

"Stop that," Hawke sighed. "Barely hurt."

"Let me," Anders said, coming over. He was covered in sand, as was Hawke. He brushed it carefully away from the wounds, which were superficial, and healed them quickly and efficiently.

"Round one is finished," Danarius's voice came from above them, cool and calm. "Round two begins."

The sand vibrated beneath their feet, swallowing the corpses of the hounds. The door opened once more.

"Holy shit," Hawke said before he could stop himself.

Vampires. True vampires. Corpses inhabited by hunger demons, and they were crouched over the dead body of an elf, devouring the girl's entrails. Hawke felt sick, a leaden weight in his stomach. The vampires turned their heads as one, saw fresh meat, and ran for the trio. A barrier wall sprang up, a silvery shield they bounced off of. Hawke shook himself; this was not a time to be distracted. If Danarius wanted a show, he would give him a show. He didn't need a staff to be formidable, after all. A ball of white-hot fire coalesced between his palms and he thrust out his hands. The fireball caught two, setting them aflame. Their inhuman shrieks filled the air, the stench of burning flesh adding to Hawke's earlier revulsion.

He heard Danarius laughing from the observation deck, could hear Merrill's questions though couldn't make out what they were saying. Commentary on the fight? Asking about their fighting techniques? He didn't care. He hated them both right now, and wished to see Danarius dead. But the only way to do that was to survive this first. He and Fenris were used to fighting with one another against foes, and Anders fell easily into step, gauging the rhythm of the battle. He worked support, throwing up shields and barriers where he could, adding a haste spell to Fenris, who became little more than a dazzling silver light as he ducked and dodged and thrust with the sword. Hawke imbued it with electricity, the air heavy and thick. Anders spun his staff once, then slammed it to the ground before raising his free hand to the ceiling. A tempest of ice fell heavy and hard, but they were protected by his earlier shield. Hawke saw hail the size of his head crash down on the vampires, crushing them, staining the sand ruby red with blood.

"Very good. Very intuitive, yes. I expected nothing less from you, little bird."

Anders glared, eyes flashing blue, skin peppered with cracks. But the enchantments and wards held, and Justice was not able to take over. "Don't call me that," he hissed through gritted teeth, panting with the effort of calling the ice storm.

"Shall we say… two more rounds?" Danarius suggested.

"They're doing well enough," Merrill said. "I don't think-"

"I didn't ask your opinion, you stupid little girl."

Merrill frowned. Even as far away as Hawke was, he could see it. How in the Void did someone like her end up with Danarius? And she wasn't an experiment, not like Anders and Fenris. At least, he didn't think she was. A slave, then? But she seemed so… happy. Or at least content. He didn't have time to dwell on it. The sand was consuming the bodies of the fallen vampires. And he had a sudden, wild thought. What if Danarius made them fight some sort of sand creature? Then he shook his head. That didn't exist. Did it?

The middle of the Gauntlet sank into the ground, sand spilling down the edges. A great rumbling noise shook the room and the platform rose again. In a circular cage with bars that looked too flimsy to hold it, stood a monster twelve feet tall, hulking and carrying a great axe. The head of an ox, huge horns, Hawke's first thought was that it was a Qunari, but no. He saw its likeness outside in the garden, and the name returned to him. It was a minotaur. He thought the things were just legends, or at the very most, extinct from a time long ago.

"At least it's not darkspawn," he heard himself say as the bars on the cage lowered.

The beast roared, throwing its head back as it screamed with bloodlust. Fenris dropped his sword and transformed. For this fight he would need his speed, and Anders supplemented it with a spell.

"Staff," Hawke asked, holding his hand out.

Anders handed it over, and Hawke felt the magic thrum in the wood. A crackle of electricity jumped from the tip, and he started to cast. While the electric wires were a favorite of his, he needed a staff for his more powerful spells. Two very large balls of purple energy formed in front of him, twice his height. They split, then split again. Eight balls of lightning half his height now gained form, growing limbs. An army of lightning warriors danced, encircling the minotaur, forcing it to pay attention to the hot sparks they threw at him. Powerful enough to do damage and distract, but not enough to kill it. Not unless one could get to its heart or brain. But he didn't need them to kill.

That's what Fenris was for, after all.

"Keep the shields up on him!" Hawke called to Anders, who kept to the edge of the fight, keeping a clear line on Fenris.

Fighting with Anders was something of a relief. While he'd always watch Fenris's back, it was easier to concentrate on being on the offensive when he didn't have to worry about Fenris being gored or impaled or worse. The white wolf was a streak amidst the lightning creatures. The minotaur roared and swung its axe but Fenris dodged easily, darting in to bite an ankle. Hawke swung the staff around, directing his lightning warriors to converge at once on the minotaur. The stench of singed flesh and hair filled the room as the minotaur howled. Its axe crashed down into two of them and they dispersed, balls of energy dissipating quickly.

"It's not enough!" Anders cried.

Hawke tossed the staff back to Anders. "Take that!"

"Hawke, what are you-"

Without Hawke controlling them, the lightning warriors became erratic. Anders increased the magic surrounding Fenris, keeping him shielded from them as well as the minotaur. Hawke knelt on the ground, drawing a rune in the sand with his fingertip. It started to glow faintly green, and his palm filled with the same color light. With a cry, he slammed his hand down on top of the rune, a shockwave of power radiating from the center. The rune pulsed, and when Hawke stood, he was covered with an ethereal green glow. The minotaur stopped, slowed by the spell, and tried to take another swing, but it moved as if it were swimming in tar, its limbs heavy, the weapon cumbersome. A black void formed between Hawke's hands, crackling with dark energy.

The minotaur roared in pain as a shadowy mist surrounded it. Fenris leapt away from the impending destruction, transforming as he ran, knocking Anders back and out of the line of fire. Hawke pushed his palms together, cupping the ball of blackness, then wrenched them apart. The spell crushed the minotaur's rib cage, then ripped it open, showering the area with blood and viscera. The minotaur howled and staggered, falling to its knees. The lightning warriors swarmed like ants, consuming and burning the corpse. Hawke, breathing hard, sweating, turned to his companions. Fenris lay half atop Anders, shielding him from the shockwave of Hawke's spell, and both were covered in gore.

"…Sorry," Hawke panted. "Can't really control where it goes."

Fenris staggered to his feet, pulling Anders up with him. "I know you enjoy that spell, Hawke, but-"

"That was bloody brilliant!" Anders declared, cutting him off.

Hawke beamed.

The still smoldering corpse of the minotaur sank down into the sand, the lightning warriors fading as a platform descended and disappeared. Light applause filtered down to them, and they looked up. Danarius was sneering down at them, Merrill next to him looking worried, bouncing lightly on her heels.

"Well done indeed," Danarius said, his tone cool. "You'll have five minutes before the next round. Prepare yourselves."

A panel in the wall opened revealing several pitchers of water and clean towels.

"I'm sure you'll need it."

None of them liked the sound of that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry again for the late update. Got caught with work and RL. Next update on Saturday.


	15. Are You Not Entertained?: Act 3

Water cascaded over Hawke's hair, wet rivulets streaming over his muscles. Anders looked away. He was covered in blood and other assorted things he didn't quite want to think about. If it hadn't been for Fenris, he might have caught something worse, though. Ambient magic or a random organ or even a bone. Hawke was extremely powerful, but extremely erratic. If they lived through this, he would offer to help him rein it in. If he could harness his magic, he would be a formidable force. He might even be able to take on Justice should the need ever arise.

"Towel?"

"Hm?"

Fenris held a towel out to him before taking one himself. Anders washed the blood from his hair and body the best he could. His companions looked unharmed, at least, though they were all exhausted. His mana was flagging from the fights and he could've used a lyrium potion. But he would receive nothing from Danarius. The water was welcome, and the towels unexpected. Perhaps Merrill suggested it to him. He wondered again where she'd come from, why a Dalish elf would subject herself to this. Was she a prisoner? He looked up at the observation deck where Merrill still stood, looking down at them. Danarius was nowhere to be seen for the moment.

"Everything all right?" Merrill called down.

Fenris glared up at her, and Hawke turned to look, hands on his hips.

"Oh yes, everything is bloody peachy," Hawke said sarcastically. "We're having a grand old time down here. Why don't you join us?"

"Oh no, I couldn't do… oh right. Sarcasm. Sorry."

"Hawke," Anders said gently. "I don't think… Never mind." He didn't know why he was defending her. A part of him thought that perhaps she wasn't there willingly, and he wanted to give her the benefit of the doubt. But if Hawke and Fenris wanted to hate her, he wouldn't stop them.

Pitchers empty, dirty towels flung back into the compartment, the panel slid shut again. Anders picked up the staff from the sand. It was inferior to his own, but it did its job, channeling his magic well enough so that he could heal them easily. Hawke and Fenris exchanged a quick, quiet conversation, making sure the other was all right. Hawke clapped him on the shoulder then approached Anders.

"I'm fine," Anders assured him.

"You're flagging a bit."

Anders frowned. "I'm fine."

"How's your mana?"

"It's enough," Anders assured him. "Don't worry about me."

Hawke's lips quirked into a small smile. "Too late."

Anders felt the heat in his cheeks. "If we get out of this-"

"When," Hawke corrected.

Anders took a breath. "Right. When." He paused, gripping the staff, his palm sweating against the wood. "I'll give you a proper kiss."

The grin that split Hawke's face was large and dopey, and Anders was reminded of a big, happy puppy whose owner presented it with a treat. "Well if that's not incentive, then I'm not sure what is."

"He's back," Fenris said flatly, looking up.

"Ready for the next round, my pets?" Danarius asked.

"Look, we're going to kill whatever you throw at us," Hawke said, emboldened by Anders' proposal. "So why not just let us out now? Or come down yourself so we can kill you instead."

"If you kill me," Danarius said smoothly, "then you won't get the information you're seeking. What is the ridiculous nickname you have for the man you're seeking? RTD? So juvenile to think you could find someone like him."

"Who is he?" Hawke demanded. "He's a magister. Friend of yours? Tell us."

Danarius chuckled. "Merrill, let's begin this round."

"But… you haven't told me what to prepare," she said apprehensively. "Was it going to be demons this time? Or are they fighting their shadows? I have a few creatures ready on standby but none of them have been prepared. Or oh! We could bring in the basilisk?"

Danarius smirked. "No. It will be melee."

"But…"

"Fenris, my little wolf, you remember, do you not? How you fought so hard for me for those markings?"

Fenris glared. "Shut your mouth, Danarius."

Hawke reached up, touching his shoulder, and Fenris shrugged him off roughly.

"Duel to the death. The winner gets the information and the power I can grant."

"What's the point of that?" Hawke asked, incredulously. "Who are we dueling?"

Danarius smirked. "Each other. You have three minutes to start." Merrill started to speak, but Danarius cut her off. "Be quiet, you foolish little girl."

Hawke looked at the other two. Fenris was livid, eyes narrowed and glaring. Anders looked bewildered, almost as if he couldn't believe that Danarius would even think of having them do this.

"What does he gain?" Hawke asked quietly, and they looked at him.

"Sport," Fenris ground out between gritted teeth.

"Fun," Anders agreed.

"It is a bit unfair though," Hawke continued. "Even if you can't access your spirit. Fenris can transform and phase, and you have the staff. And while I _am_ fairly awesome at magic-"

"Hawke," Fenris said flatly. "Not the time."

"This is ridiculous," Hawke huffed. "We're not going to fight. He can't make us fight."

"One minute," Danarius informed them. "I suggest you start now."

Hawke pursed his lips and crossed his arms, thinking. "We just refuse. Simple as that."

"I don't think it will be that simple," Anders warned.

"You don't know what he's capable of," Fenris added. "He will find a way."

Hawke heard the tales of Danarius, of how horrible he could be. He was a manipulative bastard for sure, but throwing magical creatures at them and hoping they'll die was hardly evil. In fact, it was downright boring. He expected something more imaginative from someone so feared, and was about to say so when his entire body seized up, his muscles immediately uncooperative.

"What in the bloody flames is-"

"Time is up," Danarius stated. "You refused to start on your own, so now I am starting."

"I can't move!" Hawke's limbs moved on their own accord. He couldn't stop himself as a ball of fire formed in his palm. "Watch out!"

The fire shot from his hand in a jet of flame streaming toward Fenris. Luckily he dove out of the way in time and rolled across the sand. Fenris out of the way, Hawke was forced to concentrate on Anders. Another jet of fire shot toward him, and Anders quickly held the staff out, parallel to the ground, and the flame smacked against a barrier, separating and flowing around him, leaving him unharmed.

"Nice one!"

Because he didn't have to concentrate on what he was doing, Hawke was able to listen to the conversation filtering down from above them.

"I'm sorry, I just don't see what the point in killing them off is," Merrill was complaining. "And they're ever so nice, you know. Except Fenris, he seems a bit surly. But I remember Anders and he was a sweetheart when-"

"Shut up."

"You know, that's the fourth time today you've told me to shut up. I really don't appreciate-"

"Listen you stupid knife-eared bitch, I hired you for your expertise on demons, not to give me a headache."

"Did you just call me a knife-eared bitch?"

"Leave the chamber. Now."

Hawke felt the crackles of electricity between his fingers. "Shit, move! Move fast!"

He wasn't sure how Danarius was controlling the wires that formed. As far as he knew, he was one of the only mages who could perform such a technique. But Danarius must've been using blood magic to take him over, and Hawke was unfamiliar with such foul things. As dark as some of his spells ran, dabbling in necromancy though he was by no means an expert, he would never touch that school. No matter how great your need for power was, whether to protect someone or to fight an enemy, you didn't have to consort with demons.

The wires flung out, twisting and writhing, visible only due to the pulses of lightning that ran up and down. He watched Fenris dodge them, transforming into his wolf form to leap higher, out of the way. A wire caught Anders against his back and he cried out in pain, a long, thin line of blood forming against his pale skin.

"No!" Hawke shouted, starting to panic now. The wires could strip flesh from bone, he'd done it before. It wasn't pretty. If that happened to Anders, he would never forgive himself. He struggled against the hold, but it was impossible.

"What are you doing, you foolish little girl?"

"Don't call me foolish!" Merrill sounded livid, a bit of desperation behind her words.

"Stop! Stop, I order you to-"

And then suddenly Hawke could move again. Immediately he dissolved the wires and wrenched his limbs from the residual hold. Above them, a blood-curdling scream echoed through the pit. But Hawke only barely registered what might have been happening. He ran to Anders, skidding to his knees in the sand. Anders on his hands and knees, winced at the pain.

"It's fine," Anders said. "I'm all right."

Hawke inspected the damage as Fenris came over to look. "You're not. I can… oh Maker, I can see bone. Anders, I'm so sorry."

Fenris frowned. "Can you heal yourself?"

Anders nodded, his expression betraying the agony he felt. Hawke gently touched the small of his back, feeling the warmth beneath his hand. Anders' skin glowed faintly blue, and Hawke's magic reacted to the healing energy pulsating through Anders' body. He pushed forward instinctively with his mana. Though he'd never been good at healing, he thought he could help somehow. Their magic joined, and flesh knitted together. Hawke watched, and felt Anders take his hand as he healed.

"It's fine."

"I'm sorry," Hawke said again.

"Don't. It wasn't your fault."

"Listen to him," Fenris said. "No good will come of you blaming yourself." He glanced up. The observation deck's pristine glass walls were no longer pristine, spatters of blood evidence of whatever gruesome event took place. "She's gone."

"How do we get out of here?" Hawke asked, helping Anders to his feet.

"This way," Merrill said, as a door opened. Her face and robes were covered in blood, and she was frowning. "I am sorry. I didn't think he would be so…" She exhaled forcibly. "What a waste."

"You killed him?" Fenris snarled, advancing on her.

Hawke grabbed him instinctively. "Maybe not a good idea to piss off the blood-covered mage who just killed our jailer!"

Fenris whirled on him. "You don't understand! Danarius was _mine_ to kill! It was my right to-"

"Yours?" Anders snapped. "Why yours alone? We've all suffered at his hand. Merrill did us a favor. One less crazed magister in the world."

Fenris glared at him. "You can't tell me you would allow-"

"There are enough injustices in this world," Anders said calmly, but firmly, "that it's pointless to bicker about who killed who."

"That's right," Hawke added. "Danarius deserved to die. He's dead. And from the sound of it, it wasn't quick or pleasant." He looked to Merrill for confirmation.

She nodded, and the solemn effect was somewhat ruined by her friendly smile. Though with her face covered in Danarius's blood, the smile was a bit chilling. "I need to get cleaned up, but we should talk. I'll meet you in the dining room? Anders, you know where that is?"

"I… er, yes," Anders said, clearly unsettled by her cheeriness.

"Your clothes are just in the next room. Unless you prefer to stay like that," she added, looking them all up and down before positively skipping out.

"Did she just-" Hawke broke off. "Clothing first, then explanations. Maybe Danarius has something written down about RTD."

They limped into the next room, Hawke feeling sore and tired. However, his interest in watching Anders remove the loincloth outweighed his fatigue. The cloth dropped, and he caught a glimpse of a very nice ass before turning around to give him his privacy. They dressed slowly, Hawke slipping the runestone back into his pocket where it belonged. If Danarius's notes didn't contain anything about RTD, they were at a dead end yet again. He would need to alert his contact and hopefully gain more information elsewhere.

Dressed, they trudged up to the dining room.

-

There was something surreal about being back in Danarius's mansion, eating his food at his table like a guest, rather than standing next to him with the wine, Fenris thought. As angry as he was over not getting his chance to destroy the man who'd made his life a living hell, Anders was right. Danarius was dead. That's what mattered. Still, he wished he could have been the one to crush his master's heart.

Merrill was a curious elf, seating herself at the head of the table, encouraging them to eat. "I am sorry about that. He seemed like such a nice person when he recruited me to help with his demons. Humans just don't understand about spirits. No offense, Anders."

Anders raised his eyebrows, but graciously said nothing.

"But lately," she huffed. "He's just been very mean. I didn't appreciate him calling me a knife-ear."

"As you shouldn't," Hawke agreed. "What happened?"

"I called on a demon to crush him," she said, as if it was that simple.

"So…" Hawke said, casting around for a change of subject.

"What can you tell us about the magister who's reanimating the dead?" Fenris cut in.

Merrill tapped her fork against her lips. "Danarius was working with him but not seriously. There's another one… oh what was his name…" She thought a moment, staring up at the chandelier.

Hawke continued to eat while she stared off in her own world a moment. He glanced sidelong at Anders, scrutinizing.

"What?"

"Are you really all right?" Hawke asked.

Fenris heard the concern hanging heavily in his tone, and he frowned. While he didn't begrudge Hawke his friends – he was a popular man after all – it was hard for him not to feel a slight twinge of jealousy. They worked well together, and if Hawke was truly interested in bringing this new mage along, their partnership dynamic would change. Hawke wouldn't stop caring about him, he knew that. But it had been a long time since someone showed genuine concern for him. On more than one occasion Hawke called him a brother, more so than Carver was to him, and Fenris was proud of that. Would things change?

"Oh!" Merrill said suddenly, interrupting. "Crassius Servis. He went to Orlais."

"What part of Orlais?" Hawke asked.

"The sandy desert part. Looking for… hm. Well I'm not quite sure. I can dig through Danarius's notes but it would take some time. I could send you a letter with anything I find!"

"So you're… staying here?" Hawke asked.

She shrugged. "It's as good a place as any. Once the blood's all cleaned up. You should stay the night, though!"

Hawke looked at Fenris, deferring to him. Fenris weighed the options. They could stay here. It was comfortable enough and they needed the rest. Anders had taken a big hit and while Hawke's mana seemed almost endless, they would need all three of them in top form. He nodded slightly. Hawke then looked to Anders, who nodded as well.

"We'll take you up on the offer, thank you," Hawke said.

Merrill beamed. "In that case, I'll get the guest rooms ready. We'll talk more about it in the morning!" She hopped up from the table and walked out of the dining room, a bounce in her step.

"We've met stranger people," Hawke said.

Fenris smirked. "I suppose so."

"And she was pleasant enough," Anders added.

"Well," Hawke sighed, standing up, "might as well see what the morning brings."

Fenris followed them out, watching as Hawke said good night to Anders, the whispered promise of, "Tomorrow," coming from Anders as he slipped into a bedroom. Hawke smiled, then looked at Fenris, eyebrow raised.

"What? We lived through it. I intend to get my kiss."

Fenris shook his head, but smirked as he headed into his own room for the night. Hawke, he realized, would always be Hawke, no matter what.


	16. Vampires Do Not Sparkle: Act 1

Thedas at night away from the cities was indeed beautiful. The light pollution from Minrathous all but drowned out the stars and the moon. Even half-full as it was now, it was quite large and beautiful. Funny how he never took the time to really just stop and look before, taking most things for granted. The night sky, his father's unconditional love. He snorted. It was ridiculous to think about that now, so far away from home. And why had he left? To search for his best friend. He was the only one who could do it. Alexius had sent out sell-swords, hired muscle to bring Felix back after his disappearance. The official word from the authorities was that Felix had simply left, walked away from his life. He was of age, and if he wanted to leave his family, he had that right.

But Felix wouldn't do that. And anyone who knew Felix knew he wouldn't do that. After three weeks of fighting with the authorities, of trying to explain that Felix was a good son, loyal to his father, Dorian gave up. They wouldn't see reason. At least not from him. Most people knew about his estrangement with his father. Though he was mostly reconciled with Lord Magister Pavus, there was something unsettling about being at home. And he felt responsible for things that he knew were outside his control, the guilt of his mother's death weighing heavily in his chest. That he hadn't particularly cared for his mother was beside the point. He felt like it was his fault she'd died.

"Well that's a morbid train of thought," he said quietly, his words lost to the vast desert wasteland of the Western Approach. "Dear Dorian, Stop being so morose. You have a job to do. Love, Yourself."

He sighed. Traveling was nice. He liked to travel. However, he appreciated a companion or two. Usually Felix. But as Felix was currently missing and he'd been tracking him now for nearly a month, that wasn't going to happen. If nothing else, he simply wished to get out of his own head. Annoying thoughts like buzzing flies bounced around in his mind when he wasn't speaking. Thoughts on his own country, how things were getting worse. The ordeal of his father's blood magic ritual just a few months ago and the resulting factors of that. How hungry he was right now and wondering about the last time he'd eaten.

Stopping in the lee of a rocky outcropping, he pulled off his pack and staff, and sat down in the sand. Scowling, he reached out and brushed some off his soft leather boots. It stuck.

"This terrain is _ruining_ my boots. Felix, wherever you are, I hope you're happy."

He wasn't truly angry with Felix, of course. Felix would have returned home by now if he had the choice. But Dorian's fears often manifested as anger. He couldn't rein it in. Felix would forgive him, wherever he was. Kidnapped, more than likely. But not ransomed. Alexius was powerful and rich. If the people who took Felix wanted money, Alexius would've paid any amount to get him back unharmed. That there wasn't even a letter bode very, very badly for his friend's fate. 

Talks of weird experimentation on slaves filtered through Minrathous. It was a disgrace that the Magisterium just let it happen. They turned a blind eye, like slaves weren't even people. While Dorian was proud to be an Altus, descended from the once great Dreamers themselves, it didn't give him carte blanche to do whatever he liked to others. Then again, how self-righteous could the Pavus family really be when his own father wasn't above experimenting on his son?

Dorian glared at his pack and yanked out a canteen that was enchanted not to stay cold, but to keep the contents warm. He unscrewed the lid, catching drop of crimson liquid from the cap on his finger, and licked it off. The flavor was reminiscent of the spiced rum he used to enjoy during the colder months back home. With a sigh, he took a few sips, rationing what was left, and screwed the lid back on. The blood tasted like ambrosia on his tongue, and he lay back in the sand, letting the power it brought course through him.

_"This does feel a bit incestuous," Dorian remarked lightly, as Alexius let the syringe fill with his blood._

_Alexius smiled sadly. "Better my own than a random victim, Dorian."_

_"True enough," Dorian agreed._

_"I told you," Felix said, watching from his spot on the sofa. "You can just take mine."_

_"No." This both from Dorian and Alexius._

_Felix scowled._

_Alexius emptied the syringe into a crystal goblet, enough for several swallows, then healed the wound caused by the needle. "Drink it before it coagulates. I'll continue to research an enchantment that will keep some fresh, should you ever decide to go home. Or," he added, "your father could simply-"_

_"Now_ that _would definitely be incestuous," Dorian said with distaste. "Well. Here we go then."_

_He drank the blood in one deep draught, tongue flicking out to lick the glass. He felt his incisors elongate, his senses becoming sharper. At once there was a rush of power and behind that, lust. It was altogether unnerving, and he left the room immediately, leaving Alexius to call after him._

He had a shameful secret. Or at least his father had thought so. Halward sought to change it, and turned him into even something worse, something that needed even more discretion. But Dorian didn't want to think about that right now, feeling pleasantly aroused and a little hazy. He should stop for the night, set up a shelter, and try to sleep. It was nearly morning after all, and while the sun didn't bother him as much as it used to, traveling in daylight was still daunting. He would run out of blood soon though, and would need to return home or find a different source. Alexius disliked when he spoke of that, and to his knowledge, Dorian only ever drank from himself or his father. Felix offered on multiple occasions, but Dorian would be a poor friend to take advantage.

Moot point now that he was missing.

"Damn it."

He stretched, running his tongue along his teeth, touching the extremely sharp fangs both on top and bottom. Senses heightened, it was like being drugged, but he was in full control of his faculties. It took some getting used to, especially after that first time. Well, Alexius wasn't the first, but he was the first willing. And he tried to shove _that_ thought away before he started dwelling on the near-death of one of Alexius's slaves. He'd just been so hungry and so weak, shaking and sick and unable to hold anything down, regular food tasting like ash. They thought it was a residual effect of what he'd been through. And then that poor boy brought him a bowl of soup and he'd just smelled so good…

The boy was paid handsomely for his silence and dismissed. But still Dorian couldn't forget that night, forcing himself on the young man, drinking from a wound he'd made in his neck. Alexius coming in to see him like that, wild and raw, blood dripping from his lips. Dorian howled when Alexius subdued him, and thankfully saved the boy's life. Dorian didn't think he'd ever felt so ashamed in his life. And then to be told it wasn't his fault? Ridiculous. No matter what happened to him, no matter that this change wasn't his fault, he needed to learn how to control his actions. So he trained every day. Perhaps occupying too much of his mentor's time, but he was loath to return home. His father was told. They talked. The conversation was painful and awkward and Halward apologized, but how do you forgive someone who…

Dorian covered his eyes with the back of his hand, sighing. The earlier elation from the blood was gone now, just a bitter, rotten feeling sitting in his chest. Any hope of a future he had before the ritual had been slim. And now he felt it was closer to none. Felix's disappearance distracted him well enough that he didn't have to think about that too much, though. He promised Alexius he would bring him back. It was the least he could do for that family, with everything they'd done for him.

He was just nodding off – a foolish thing to do in the desert without shelter – when the sounds of shouting roused him. Sitting up, he glanced around, listening for the source of the noise. He grabbed his pack and carefully headed down the ridge, toward a cliff. In the far distance he could just see the shape of some old tomb and several dark figures wielding torches disappearing into it.

"Well that's bound to be a lead to something."

Fortifying his natural speed with a spell, he leapt off the cliff and landed perfectly, summersaulting when he hit the ground. Despairing of never again having an outfit not entirely covered in sand, he raced toward the tomb.

-

"I dunno, he just said to dig in here. It's an ancient fucking tomb. Sure to be treasures."

"You always follow him blindly?"

"No. But he's paying me enough not to ask no stupid questions."

Dorian kept to the shadows once he slipped inside the tomb. It was dwarven. He could tell by the architecture and the statues of two paragons just inside. A dwarven tomb in Orlais. Not something he would've guessed, honestly. You were more likely to see their influence in Tevinter, though he supposed the thaigs stretched throughout Thedas. But they weren't in the Deep Roads. The tomb only had one set of descending stairs. They were barely fifteen feet below the surface. He counted four in all, two dwarves and two men. The dwarves carried torches while the men held a large chest between the two of them. No doubt to haul up any treasures they found inside.

But who was their employer?

"What does this shit say?" one of the men asked.

One of the dwarves – Carta, Dorian guessed, from the casteless tattoo on his face – laughed. "You think any dwarf can read that? How about I ask you to read some Orlesian for me?"

"Only if you want dirty poetry," the human shot back.

Dorian listened to him recite a dirty limerick in Orlesian, one he actually didn't recognize. _Point in your favor,_ he thought.

Keeping to the darkness was easier now. He almost felt as if he blended in at the edges, like a ghost or a spectre. But he was still flesh and blood, even if altered. And his magic was just as powerful as ever. He didn't feel any magical signatures from either human. If he was to confront them, he was fairly sure he could take them all out easily enough. He waited patiently for them to pull ahead, disappearing into the next dark chamber, and pressed his back against the wall, listening.

"Servis said this is where we should-"

The sound of cracking stone interrupted the dwarf. But Dorian had the proof he needed. He was tracking Magister Servis in connection with Felix's disappearance, and here was proof of him being in the area. Or at least his lackeys. And if Dorian followed the dwarves, he was sure to find Servis.

"What the fuck did you just do?"

"I didn't do nothing!"

"What is tha-"

Dorian startled as the screaming began. The two dwarves and one of the men raced past him, heading toward the entrance, tripping over one another. Inside the chamber, the agonizing, blood-curdling screams continued, followed by the crunching of bone and crushing of organs. A thrill of fear danced up his spine, and common sense told him to follow the others out, and fast. But changed now as Dorian was, very little could hurt him. And he had the advantage of surprise. Another crunch of bone, and then a soft thudding. Footfalls, but heavy, and Dorian's keen eyes saw a figure emerge through the darkness.

" _Kaffas!_ " he swore as his brain registered what he was seeing.

Unfortunately the sound drew the attention of the hulking creature. It turned and the stench of decayed flesh hit Dorian full force. It didn't nauseate him like it would have normally. However, the lack of illness didn't exactly take away the fear he felt as the decaying corpse looked at him with its empty eye sockets. Its rotted flesh was held together by old, moldy linen wrapped around its limbs and torso. Dorian reacted first, covering himself with a barrier and raced for the entrance. He heard the heavy pounding footfalls behind him, like a dwarven golem thudding on the stone.

_The stairs! The stairs, you're almost out!_

He slipped on the stone and scrambled up and out into the sand. The others were nowhere to be seen, likely scattered to the four winds in their haste to escape. A strong hand grabbed his ankle and he realized he paused too long. The thing, for as big and hulking as it was, was bloody fast! And a dried up corpse had no blood. He couldn't bite it, couldn't drain it to kill it. It yanked roughly and Dorian went down hard, smacking against the sand. He felt the grit between his teeth and clenched his fists. He wouldn't die this way!

His palms filled with fire, then his entire body lit up, bright orange flames surrounding him. The creature wailed, a mournful cry as it caught fire. The linen burned up at once and the smell wafting from its dead flesh increased tenfold. _Now_ Dorian felt sick to his stomach, and scrambled away from the tomb. The sand beneath him became superheated with his magic, creating a smooth, shiny glass-like surface. Dorian relaxed, his magic fizzling out as he lay on his back, looking up at the moon and stars. The cries of the corpse faded away and Dorian heard it fall inside the tomb, hopefully dead for good.

"Well," he breathed. "I always knew I was scorching hot."

He looked over. A fennec fox was sitting in the sand, staring at him, head tilted curiously.

"What?" he scowled. "It was funny."

The fox chittered, then ran off, kicking sand up at him. Irritated, Dorian sat up, brushing himself off.

"Oh what do you know anyway? You live in a bloody desert."

He picked up his pack and started to look for a trail that would lead him to the tomb robbers.


	17. Vampires Do Not Sparkle: Act 2

"I'd always heard it was cold in the desert at night, but I never experienced it," Hawke said, teeth chattering a little as he moved closer to the fire.

"You're Fereldan," Fenris said in disbelief. "It's not that cold."

"Cold enough. Or do I have to recount the first time you saw snow."

"Hawke," Fenris said warningly.

Anders sat near Hawke or rather, Hawke near him, thigh pressed to his while they waited for the meat the Fenris caught – a couple of small quillbacks – to cook. Removing the spines had been an arduous, annoying task, but he saved a handful for the poison he could later make from them.

"I remember the first big snow we had after I was put in the Circle," Anders interrupted, saving Fenris from the embarrassment. They were on tentative footing, Fenris looking at him every so often like he wanted to say something, and largely ignoring him the rest of the time. "Some of the mages in the tower hadn't grown up in Ferelden, so they'd never seen snow before. They were from other countries, either shuffled around with paperwork and bureaucratic nonsense. Or because they were a flight risk, wanting to return to home," he added angrily.

"Did they run through the flakes with their arms spread wide?" Hawke asked, redirecting the mood.

"I did no such thing!" Fenris protested.

"They wanted to," Anders admitted, continuing his story. "The templars didn't let us outside."

"Ever?" Hawke asked, disbelieving. "What, not once?"

"Twice," Anders relented. "The first was just for a walk around the island and back. The second was for a swim in the lake. I made it to the opposite shore, but they caught me. Then they didn't let the others outside again for a year. And even then I wasn't allowed."

"No wonder you're so-" Hawke shut up abruptly.

"So what?" Anders asked, curious.

"He was likely going to say something extremely unflattering or outright rude," Fenris sighed. He took one of his knives and prodded gently at the meat cooking over the fire. "Not much longer. I'm going to see about water." He took their water skins and headed in the direction of a small oasis some way off.

"Did you really try to swim to freedom?" Hawke asked.

"Of course." Anders tried not to sound too bitter. "Anywhere was better than that Maker damned tower." He felt Hawke slide an arm around his waist, likely to try to comfort him. "I'm fine. It's been a long time since I was there and I never have to return. Still, there are so many children… so many people who return just because they don't know what else to do with themselves."

"I'll help you. After this is all done," Hawke said. "To be honest, I didn't think you were going to want to come with us. I thought after Danarius, you'd return to Kirkwall."

Anders shrugged. He wasn't sure why he agreed to come with them. It wasn't as if he had any personal stake in taking down the magister they were looking for. But a part of him felt it was right. It was something that had to be done and he wanted to help. If he could help stop this magister, then maybe it was another obstacle removed for mage rights. People wouldn't look at them like monsters. He knew he was kidding himself a little there, but it was a nice thought.

_And it had nothing to do with the fact that Hawke likes you._

That was a lie as well, and not a very good one. Hawke's hand felt nice wrapped around his waist and he regretted wearing his coat, wanting to feel his warmth.

"You know…"

"Hm?"

"I think I still owe you a kiss from that."

Hawke's grin was infectious. "Well, I'm right here," he said, rather enthusiastically.

Anders chuckled, fingers threading through his beard as he cupped his jaw. "Just one kiss, right?"

"Are you going to make me earn the next ones?" Hawke asked. "Because I would like to kiss you whenever I felt like it. But that's up to you," he added hastily.

"You're horribly endearing."

"That's good though, right?"

Anders answered him by leaning in and kissing him. Hawke pushed his advantage immediately and Anders laughed at the boldness, but allowed it. Head tilted, mouth opened, Hawke's tongue slid against his own and he whimpered unconsciously. It had been a long time since someone kissed him like this, so eager and skillful. His self-imposed celibacy suddenly seemed stupid and the swirling in his chest that he knew was Justice increased. He felt annoyed with the situation. This had nothing to do with their cause or any cause, truthfully. Hawke's hand moved to his thigh and squeezed, and Anders broke the kiss, pushing at his chest.

"Good?" Hawke asked.

"It was very good." And that was the problem, wasn't it? He wanted Hawke. Hawke was the first person who saw Justice. Who wasn't afraid of Justice. And while he thought that Karl might have understood, given the whole story, would he really stay? Possibly yes, Karl was a good man. But it was easier to pretend that part of himself didn't exist. With Hawke, there was no faking it. No imagining it away to carry on the pretense of friendship.

"So we can do more?" He squeezed Anders' leg again.

Anders laughed incredulously. "Hawke. Let me think about it."

"Am I coming on too strong? I've been told I do that," Hawke said, and backed off. "Sorry."

"No, you're… you're fine. It's just been a very long time since anyone's been interested."

"I find that very hard to believe," Hawke said, looking at him doubtfully.

Anders watched the shadow that was Fenris approach from a distance. "It's the truth."

"What? No it's not," Hawke said, and took the skin that Fenris offered. "Thanks."

"Thank you," Anders said, taking his own, and hoped he wouldn't have to elaborate now that Fenris was back.

But Hawke didn't understand tact or privacy, apparently. Or perhaps he was just more comfortable around Fenris than Anders was and didn't mind if their lives were all an open book to one another.

"Not a single person in Kirkwall has asked you to sleep with them?"

Fenris glanced up from where he'd knelt by the fire. He looked from Anders, who was blushing slightly, to Hawke, who was gawking, and scowled. He looked back down at the cooking meat and flipped it, pretending not to hear the conversation. Anders was grateful at least for that.

"Perhaps a few," Anders acknowledged.

"But you didn't take them up on it. Why?"

Anders sighed. "Not everyone has such an accepting outlook as you on abominations."

Fenris huffed but otherwise held his tongue.

"What does that have to do with anything? You couldn't just have a fling or something?"

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," Anders said quietly, feeling uncomfortable now.

Fenris, thankfully, thrust wooden plates at them. "It's finished. Here." He gave Anders a much larger piece than Hawke's, Anders noticed.

"Where did you learn how to cook?" Anders asked, hoping to keep the conversation between himself and Fenris friendly, while Hawke silently contemplated his smaller piece of quillback steak.

"Hawke's butler. Hawke has a very limited range of cooking skills. I thought it would be useful to learn," Fenris said.

It was the first words they'd exchanged in the weeks of traveling together that weren't at least partially antagonistic. However, Fenris seemed content to leave it there as they ate, and Anders didn't want to press further. Hawke, perhaps sensing that he was the cause of the discomfort, ate quickly and quietly, then excused himself before setting off into the darkness.

Anders frowned. "I should-"

"No," Fenris sighed. "I will go." He stood, then paused at the edge of the camp. "He doesn't mean to be so tactless. It's not often he meets someone he can… tolerate. Excuse me."

Anders wondered what word Fenris was trying to go for there, or if he really did mean that Hawke merely tolerated him. Then again, from the way Hawke kissed him, he was fairly sure it was a mistake on Fenris's part. He finished his meal and tossed the plates into a small metal bucket filled with water. It was Hawke's turn to scrub and the water would be used to douse the fire before they all went to sleep. He hoped Fenris and Hawke wouldn't be too long, wondering if it would be rude to slip into his tent alone without waiting for them to return.

A burst of flame in the distance caught his attention, and Fenris and Hawke saw it too. They returned quickly to the camp, their conversation cut short.

"Did you see-"

"Yes," Anders said, standing, staff in hand. "Worth checking out?"

"I'd say so. Fenris?"

Fenris nodded. "Let's."

Hawke took his own staff, releasing Fenris's sword from it, and the three of them set off across the ridge.

-

"What was it you said? 'It's only a lone mage. I bet he's harmless.'"

"Shut up, Fenris," Hawke growled. He would've managed more, but the blood was rushing to his head. "Excuse me, could you let us go?"

In retrospect, sneaking up on the 'lone mage' was probably not the best idea he ever had. He was still feeling a bit prickly over what Fenris said to him in regards to his overtures toward Anders though. He was perfectly capable of seducing him without any extra help. But maybe Fenris was right. Maybe he needed to learn some tact. Also, he should learn to listen when a potential rival mage says, 'Don't come any closer.'

"Did my father send you?"

"What a weird question," Hawke said, as they hung upside down in mid-air, held aloft by three spirit wisps. "Why would your father send people after you?"

"I suppose you're completely unfamiliar with the societal pressures of the north, then. Considering you sound Fereldan, I suppose that makes sense."

"And you're Tevinter," Fenris snapped.

"Yes, I am." He paused. "Ah. Former slave?" he asked gently. "My apologies." He waved a hand and Fenris fell gracefully to the ground.

"Sure, let _him_ go," Hawke groused.

Fenris brushed himself off, glaring at the Tevinter mage. He asked something in Tevene almost challengingly, that Hawke couldn't understand.

"Let's start with names first, shall we? Dorian, of house Pavus," he said, taking a sweeping bow.

"Fenris."

" _Avanna_ , Fenris. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Unfortunately the courtesy had the opposite effect, Hawke could tell. Instead of being impressed that this Tevinter mage – Dorian – was being nice to him, Fenris only became more wary. _Once bitten, twice shy_ Hawke figured. Dire circumstances had brought them together, but Fenris was extremely suspicious of anyone else. The opposite of Hawke, actually, a fact that usually got him into trouble. Like now.

"Release my friends," Fenris demanded.

"Do I have their word that they won't harm me? That I won't be locked in a magical cage or…" He looked at Anders. "Something worse."

Hawke wondered if Dorian could sense the spirit of Justice inside Anders, or if he just thought Anders looked more dangerous than he did. Which was preposterous. Anders was downright adorable compared to him!

"We never meant to harm you in the first place," Fenris said, scowling. "You reacted rashly."

"Not that you should blame me," Dorian replied, waving a hand.

Anders landed on his side with a quiet _oomph_ , while Hawke ate a handful of sand. Spitting, brushing himself off, he turned to glare at Dorian.

"Easy now," Dorian said, arms spread. A small crackle of purple electricity formed in one palm, staff in the other.

"We're not going to attack," Anders said. "Dorian?"

He nodded.

"Anders. And this is Hawke."

"Please to make your acquaintance. I hope," Dorian added, lowering his hand, the magic fizzling out. "If my father didn't send you, what brings you here? Mere coincidence?"

"We're looking for evidence for a Tevinter magister who's been reanimating the dead. Do you happen to know him?" Hawke asked, though it was a joke.

Dorian raised an eyebrow, just visible in the moonlight. "Should I ask you if you're familiar with the barbarians of Ferelden? Since you have so much in common with them, it would seem."

Hawke started forward, Anders grabbed his arm, and Fenris stepped smoothly between them.

Fenris spoke again in rapid Tevene and Dorian answered, frowning as his eyes slid from Hawke to Fenris.

"Perhaps we can stick to the trade tongue?" Anders asked.

"Pardon the discourtesy," Dorian said. "I don't know the magister in question, no. It's not as if all Tevinter mages – and mind you we're not _all_ magisters – gather together to discuss our nefarious plans and laugh while petting cats or some such nonsense. I do, however, know someone who could help you gather more information."

"We're looking for a man called Servis," Fenris said. "He was said to know something."

"Well that's perfect!" Dorian replied, smiling. "It just so happens that I'm looking for him myself. He's got a lot of things to answer for. Namely the disappearance of my best friend. You help me find him, and then you can get all the information you need from him after. And then if you still want, I can give you the name of a contact of mine who might have even more knowledge leading to your magister."

It wasn't a bad deal, Hawke thought, though he was still irritated with the earlier insult. He looked at Fenris, who nodded, and Anders, who shrugged a bit.

"We accept," Fenris agreed.

Dorian held his hand out. Fenris hesitated, but took it, and shook congenially. "Well then, we should-"

An explosion rocked the area, throwing them off their feet, nullifying their magic instantly. Another explosion, and they were all suddenly unconscious.


	18. Vampires Do Not Sparkle: Act 3

Dorian came to slowly. His arms ached and he realized they were tied to a wooden pole above his head. Blearily he glanced around. They were at the mouth of an enormous crater. In the middle, a dozen or so men and a handful of dwarves stood, facing a giant bonfire and a huge, glistening black box that was twice the height of the tallest man. Dorian could just make out several runes inlaid in the otherwise well-polished sides and thought perhaps he didn't want to know what was going on.

On one side of him, the blond mage – Anders. The one with the distinct magical signature that Dorian couldn't quite place. On the other, the good-looking elf with the strange tattoos that glowed ever so slightly now in the dark. He saw Hawke, the brutish Fereldan, next to Anders, still unconscious. Closing his eyes a moment, he reached for his magic and found it there, but faint, like a whisper. It was disconcerting. Usually he could call on it with the snap of his fingers but now it was taking more effort than it was worth just to create a bit of heat to try to burn away the restraints. He stopped, taking a breath.

"Magebane," Anders said quietly.

"You sound acquainted," Dorian whispered back.

"Unfortunately I am. Templars in the Circle used to use it as punishment on mages they thought were out of line. Depending on the dose, it could be hours before our magic returns."

"How utterly barbaric."

Anders pulled at the leather straps around his wrists. Dorian looked up again. His wrists were crossed, a length of leather twisting and pulling them together, wrapped around a long horizontal wooden pole. On either end of the pole, two more crossed pieces of wood, tied together trestle-style. He looked back to Fenris, who was staring at the pit, eyes narrowed contemplatively.

"Are you all right?"

Fenris scowled. "No."

"I meant other than the completely obvious," Dorian added.

Fenris glanced up at the ropes around his wrists, then back down to the pit. "Whatever it is, it's likely not good." He looked past Dorian to Anders, eyes flicking worriedly to Hawke. "Is he-"

"He seems fine," Anders reassured him. "Unconscious, but unhurt. You?"

"I'm fine." Fenris hesitated. "And you are unharmed?"

Anders' lips quirked into a half-smile. "Other than unable to use my magic, I'm fine."

"My marks seem unaffected," Fenris said. "I could likely phase through."

"Phase?" Dorian asked, curious.

Fenris grunted by way of response, and pointedly addressed Anders. "Can you wake Hawke?"

Anders straightened, hips swiveling, and kicked Hawke hard in the leg. Hawke startled awake. "Morning, sleepyhead."

"I feel like I've been hit by a horde of rampaging Qunari," Hawke muttered. "What happened?"

"Magebane bomb," Anders informed him.

"Those are fun words to say."

Next to Dorian, Fenris visibly relaxed, eyes on Hawke. "You're unhurt?"

Hawke grinned. "Never better. You?"

Fenris grunted again.

"What's going on down there?" Hawke asked, turning his attention to the crater. "What's in the box?"

"I'm not sure you want to know the answer to that," Dorian said, trying to find the one person amidst the crowd he knew had to be there.

"Oh come on," Hawke said. "Nothing ever went wrong by wondering what was in the giant, creepy box with dwarven runes on it."

"There." Dorian spotted him. Crassius Servis in the middle of the group, silver staff catching the firelight. He was directing several others onto each side of the large cube, etching spells into the sand around it. "Servis is here."

"Well at least we don't have to go searching for him," Hawke said, pulling at the straps. "Fenris?"

"I could-"

"Glad to see you're all awake!" came Servis's booming voice through the crater. He was looking up at them, though they could barely make out his face.

He crossed the pit and stepped into a rickety looking wooden lift. Two dwarves manned the controls, grabbing the handles of a large wheel that took the lift upward at a rather rapid pace. Servis stepped out once he drew level with them. Dorian remembered him. Of course, how could he not? The affair they had was all too brief, just two days over the weekend on Seheron at a party thrown by Servis himself. Dorian had been taken in by the bedroom eyes, the slow drawl, his deft hands. It wasn't the first time he'd indulged with a man of position and power but he promised it would be the last. Chasing magisters' sons was always easier than chasing magisters themselves, after all. And not all of them were as appealing as Servis had once been.

"Dorian, as always, it's so good to see you."

Dorian gritted his teeth. "Crassius."

"And your friends?"

"Just wanted to get a look at how truly repulsive you are."

"Am I now?"

"Personality-wise," Dorian clarified, and realized belated he'd already lost this duel.

"What's in the box?" Hawke piped up.

Dorian was suddenly quite grateful for his simplicity and one track mind. Hopefully none of them recognized the exchange for what it was. Anders seemed focused on the box, Hawke looking at Servis, and Fenris… well, Fenris was looking at him rather critically. Dorian frowned and shook his head slightly. Fenris was Tevinter. Being a former slave, he would have seen the verbal sparring between magisters and other upper classmen. He was more intuitive than he first appeared, too. With any luck, his past wouldn't matter. He would give them directions to Alexius for more information on the magister that was reanimating the dead and they would part ways. After all, Alexius knew everything about everything, or so it seemed.

"You'll see shortly," Servis assured him. "Why are you really here?"

"You know about RTD," Hawke said, cutting right to the point. "Tell us, and we won't kill you."

Servis looked lazily from Hawke, to Hawke's bound hands, to the others. "Ah, I see. You fancy yourself the hero of this little altercation. Bold and demanding while you clearly are in a position of loss. While my men prepare the cube, why don't we have a bit of a discussion about _that_?"

"Crassius," Dorian tried. "Where is Felix? Alexius just wants his son back. If anyone knows-"

"Felix is no longer with us."

Dorian felt his blood run cold, the night suddenly freezing. He felt his fangs extend against his will and quickly looked down, muscles quivering. To anyone who didn't know him, it might look as if he were crying, or close to it. In reality, he was livid. He would tear Servis apart.

"Oh he's still alive."

Dorian's head snapped up, eyes gleaming in the moonlight. "Explain," he hissed. On his left he heard Fenris make a small noise of surprise, and realized his altered physiology may have just been discovered. Damn his luck for getting put next to the observant elf.

"Well you see, I was promised Felix as a test subject for a future project."

"A project for RTD?" Hawke pressed.

"My, my but you are persistent. But if you must know, yes. Not that you'll ever find him. He remains hidden even to his followers."

"Where is he?" Dorian demanded. "Where is Felix?"

Servis's careful smile faltered just a bit before fading. "Unfortunately the experiment was a failure. Felix is gone."

"What do you mean he's gone? Where did he go?"

Servis gestured out to the great expanse of the desert. "Somewhere."

Dorian yanked his bindings hard, causing the structure to jerk a bit. "I swear I will _kill_ you!"

Servis laughed. "Felix was alive the last time I saw him. If the elements haven't gotten to him by now, the wildlife has."

Dorian couldn't allow himself to believe it. Felix had to be alive. He wouldn't return home without him. And if something did happen to Felix? He would never forgive himself. He would bring Servis's head to Alexius on a silver platter. Though he knew that wouldn't make up for the loss of his son. He envied their relationship and wished his own father had cared half as much. Though now was not the time to lament what he didn't have.

"But enough about him. You're all about to witness the unsheathing of a great treasure, thought lost to the ages."

"Are all magisters so dramatic?" Hawke broke in.

"Sadly there are others more dramatic than him," Dorian returned.

"You won't be laughing much longer," Servis said. He turned toward the pit. "Are the wards in place?" he called out, his voice echoing over the crater.

One of the dwarves called back to him, waving an arm to signal they were ready. 

Servis smiled, cold and cruel. "In that case… Open the box!"


	19. Here Comes the Sun: Act 1

The cube rumbled, the sand around it shaking apart. The runes burned white, then turned red, and Fenris's lyrium marks reacted, lighting up with it. Whatever was in the box was controlled by, or at least contained, lyrium. Servis glanced over at him, eyebrows raised in interest, before he turned his attention back to the pit. The men and dwarves beneath were backing away now, the power that radiated from the cube palpable. Fenris felt it pulsing through his brands, and he gritted his teeth against the pain.

"Maker's breath, Servis, what have you unleashed?" Dorian snapped, pulling harder at the leather straps.

"Anytime, Fenris!" Hawke urged, a note of worry in his voice.

"The dwarves hid it away, but I found the key to unlock it," Servis said, watching carefully.

"Oh because _that's_ not a cliché at all!" Dorian sounded slightly panicked.

Fenris took a breath, trying to control his markings, trying to phase or transform, but with the odd magic in the air, he was having difficulty. The cube shook violently, vibrating hard enough that they heard it from their high vantage point. Bursts of reddish white light poured from the cracks in the cube and the runes as the sides parted, the top lifting by an invisible hand. Fenris continued to try to phase, to get through the leather straps at the very least, or somehow tear them apart.

"Crassius, untie us!" Dorian called over the noise.

Down below, a few of the men started to run toward the lift, but Servis locked it in place. They started climbing the ropes instead. Servis alone seemed unaffected, watching impassively. The lid of the cube started to spin violently, kicking up a sandstorm that whirled like a tornado. Then suddenly it shot forward, decapitating several men, as it lodged itself into the side of the canyon, shaking the rocky walls. Servis's lips pulled back into a feral smile, his eyes coolly surveying the carnage.

"Fenris?" Hawke asked. "Anders, magic?"

"Can _you_?" Anders shot back, the fear obvious in his tone.

"Nope," Hawke agreed. "Fenris?!"

"Just give me a damn minute, Hawke!" Fenris snarled, and pulled wildly on the straps. They loosened, but held. Unable to phase, adrenaline coursing through him, he grabbed the straps the best he could and swung himself up, legs scrambling up and over the bar so he was hooked on by the backs of his knees. Unable to see anything now but the stars in the sky and his wrists bound before him, he got to work on the ties with his teeth while he listened to the screams of the men and the dwarves below.

"Andraste's flaming knickers, what the-"

"Fuck!" Hawke cut Anders off abruptly. "What the fuck is that?!"

Fenris yanked the ties loose and dismounted gracefully, landing on his feet in a crouch. Then he saw it. The reason for the screams, for Hawke's terror. From the box emerged a giant creature that could best be described as a huge worm. But that hardly did it justice. Half animal, half mechanical, it moved as smoothly as any earthworm but much more quickly. The panels of metal on its skin burst with flame every so often, and what its giant, razor-sharp jaws didn't catch, the flames did. He watched in horror as it slithered quickly, flattening two men to catch a third. It bit him in half, leaving the man from waist down, blood soaking the sand.

"FENRIS!"

Hawke's cry broke him from his reverie. Servis looked over, a ball of lightning in his hand at once. Dorian reacted first, being closest, and kicked him hard with both feet, knocking him over. Fenris ran to Hawke and untied him, yanking the straps loose. He moved to Anders next, as Hawke grabbed his staff from the haphazard pile. Servis was getting slowly to his feet as Fenris finished untying Anders.

"Little help here?" Dorian asked, tugging at his own ties.

Fenris hated trusting Hawke's safety to Anders, but the mage had proven himself before. And they would need Dorian if they were going to get any more information on RTD. He hurriedly tugged at the straps around Dorian's wrists, having to lean up to pull him loose. Dorian stumbled, and Fenris caught him around the waist and righted him.

"No time for that," Dorian said with a wink before he grabbed his own staff from the ground.

Fenris glared at his back before looking to see Hawke and Anders engaged in a half-melee, half-magic fight as they struggled to use the last reserves of their mana to fight off Servis. The screams of the men below died out with them, and Fenris turned to see the worm creature swallow one last dwarf. The pit was carnage, the fire nearly burned out. Bodies of men and dwarves lay in the sand half-chewed or otherwise flattened and unmoving. Blood splattered the floor and dribbled from worm's razor teeth and gummy-looking mouth. It turned its blind head toward them, where Hawke and Anders and now Dorian fought to subdue Servis. Then, Fenris swore he saw it grin. It leapt up in the air and dove straight down, burying its eyeless face into the sand, and as easily as one would move through water, it burrowed into the earth.

"We have a bigger problem now!" Fenris shouted. "The creature is subterranean!"

"Of course it is!" Servis snarled. "It's a bloody worm, what did you-"

He broke off as the worm breached the surface a hundred yards away from them. Fenris shoved by Servis and grabbed Hawke's arm, pulling hard.

"Time to go. Now."

Hawke didn't argue. The four of them sprinted from the ridge, hurrying down the rocky slope. Fenris, away from the box with the runes, was able to transform which he did. He pulled ahead of the others, then stopped short, hackles raised. The worm disappeared and reemerged in front of them, rearing fifty feet in the air. It let out an ear-splitting screech. Fenris flattened his ears, growling. He felt Hawke's hand on his haunches.

"Not a fight we can win!"

"This way!" Dorian shouted, dodging around the creature.

One of the mages managed enough mana for a haste spell and they raced off across the sand toward another mountain ridge. Fenris transformed back as they hit the wall, too steep to climb without help. Hawke cupped his hands and Fenris stepped into them. Hawke hoisted him up easily and Fenris scrambled to get on top of the rock wall. He flatted himself and leaned down, taking Anders' hand next and pulled him up.

"It's coming, it's coming!" Dorian hurried them. "Right behind us!"

"Stop panicking!" Hawke snapped.

" _You_ stop panicking!" Dorian shot back, and followed Anders up.

Hawke backed up from the wall to get a running start, and together Fenris and Anders pulled him up just as the beast slammed into the cliff side. They ran the length of the cliff, climbing doggedly up the gradual incline. The worm reared back and slammed into the rock again, but couldn't seem to penetrate it. Once they were out of reach, tucked high against a cliff wall, they stopped to catch their breath.

"What in the Maker's Golden City was THAT?" Dorian managed.

"Giant worm," Hawke ventured.

"Well yes I gathered that part, you giant simpleton, but I was asking more about what it was doing here and if anyone had ever seen anything of its like. Though I don't expect you to grasp the finer points of conversation and subtlety!"

"Say that again," Hawke growled.

"Shall I speak more slowly then?"

"Easy," Anders said, diffusing the fight that seemed to want to start. "Let's just get our bearings and figure out what to do next."

"Survive," Fenris said.

"Simply put, I agree," Anders said. "But 'how' is the real question."

"We don't have any of our supplies," Hawke acknowledged, though he continued to glare in Dorian's direction. "They must've been left behind when we got captured." He glanced around, not seeing any landmarks. "…Tenacious thing," he muttered.

Fenris saw what he meant. The rock they were on jutted up perhaps two or three hundred feet from the ground, with both flat and mountainous peaks. They were on a plateau far away from the worm creature, which was trying to find a way to climb the rocky walls. Despite the mechanical plates, or perhaps because of them, it couldn't find purchase, and crashed to the sand several times before starting to circle.

"Let's hope it doesn't figure out how to climb, yes?" Dorian asked, looking at them, before his eyes stopped on Fenris. "You're a-"

Fenris glowered. "And you are-"

"Wait, what did I miss when I was running for my life?" Hawke asked, stepping between them.

"Look," Dorian said, "I realize that traditionally speaking-"

"Vampire."

Dorian's eyes narrowed. "While we're busy outing one another as supernatural beings, why don't we talk about you?" And he turned to Anders.

Anders frowned. "Me? What do-"

"Leave Anders out of this," Hawke growled, getting into Dorian's personal space. "You're a vampire? Fenris, what? You smelled him?"

"I assume he saw my fangs when I was being informed that my best friend was dead!" Dorian cleared his throat. His was clearly trying to keep it together. "Yes, I _am_ a vampire, however it wasn't my choice."

"To be a vampire, you have to be a blood mage," Hawke said. "You have to willingly-"

"Joke's on me, then," Dorian said acidly. "Maybe someone should've told the demon that forced into my soul that he needed to knock first and say 'please' before entering."

"You were forced?" Anders asked quietly.

Dorian rounded on him, about to snap, when he saw the compassion there. "Yes, I… it wasn't a pleasant experience and I don't really like talking about so if we could-" He gestured with his hands. "Move on? Thank you."

"Let's just agree to disagree for now," Hawke said, in the middle of a rather antagonistic triangle. He also happened to be the only one fully human, which put him in a unique position.

"What _are_ you, though?" Dorian asked, unable to keep from inhaling Anders' scent on the light breeze.

"…Abomination. Also not by choice."

"Really?" Dorian asked, crossing his arms, looking at him. "You look very handsome for one."

Anders let out a laugh. "Well that's… thank you."

Hawke made a noise like a low growl in his throat, and Fenris grabbed his wrist, just in case he tried to throw a punch.

"Fire," Fenris said. "We build a fire with what we can and make it through the night. One of us on watch at all times. Dawn should be approaching soon."

"Then we'll figure out how to get off this rock and find Servis," Hawke agreed.

"He's probably long gone, sadly," Dorian sighed, keeping a wary eye on Hawke. "My offer stands, though. If you help me find Felix, I'll introduce you to someone who might be able to help you."

"Fine," Hawke agreed. "Fenris. Why don't you and Anders go find kindling so we can get a fire started. Should be able to spark enough of a light with my magic. Not enough mana to keep it going through the night, though."

"Don't you just hate it when you can't keep it up?" Dorian said somewhat snidely.

"Dunno, never had that problem," Hawke returned.

"Nor I, but you did seem the type to have trouble," Dorian said, eyes flicking appraisingly over Hawke's body.

Fenris merely sighed and grabbed Anders by the arm, dragging him off.

"What does it say about us," Anders said, glancing back over his shoulder, "when we've got the least amount of animosity of the group?"

Fenris let out a wry laugh. "That Dorian is a perfect example of Tevinter gone wrong. And that Hawke should learn that you are not a delicate flower in need of defense."

"You truly believe that?"

"I have seen you tear a man's head from his body," Fenris said, leaning down to break apart a dried tree branch. "Apart from that, you are capable with your magic."

"That's downright complimentary coming from you," Anders said, taking the pile of twigs that Fenris handed him.

"There's no need for contention when Hawke so clearly wishes to keep you."

"Keep me."

"Keep," Fenris repeated. "Like a shiny trinket. His magpie tendencies extend to his companions as well as the random clutter in his mansion."

"I'm not sure I like being objectified in such a way," Anders said, frowning as Fenris piled up more twigs and branches. He shifted his hold. "Does he take lovers at random?"

"No. He'll make trips to the brothel, but no one who's…" Fenris frowned and stopped pulling up the dried grass. His shoulders hunched, he contemplated his next words. "He is enamored with you."

"Oh? I thought he merely tolerated me," Anders teased carefully. "What did you say to him?"

They both tensed as they heard the worm creature shrieking its frustration in the distance.

"I told him that if he holds on too tightly, you'll only slip through his fingers faster."

"…Thank you."

"I did not do it for your sake," Fenris grunted, pulling up quite a bit of dried out grass. "This should be sufficient."

"You really like him, don't you?" Anders asked, before he could stop himself. "Why?"

Fenris stood, twigs and grass in hand, frowning at Anders. "He is my friend."

"Yes, but you don't seem the type of person who has many friends. You're rather ah… Well."

His frown deepened, but he didn't argue the point. "Hawke is a good man. He deserves to be happy. For whatever reason, he thinks he can have that with you. I would see him content."

"That's rather charitable of you."

Fenris rolled his eyes and pushed past him. "Just because I wish to see a friend happy does not suddenly make me-"

"A good person? We wouldn't want people thinking _that_ of you."

Fenris made a soft noise that sounded like a chuckle. "No. We wouldn't."

Both of them feeling slightly lighter, slightly better for the conversation, returned to the makeshift campsite.


	20. Here Comes the Sun: Act 2

The fire burned out sometime in the middle of the night. Dorian shivered almost violently in the cold and moved toward the only source of warmth he could find. His face hit fur and for a moment, he thought he was back home in his bed, surrounded by puffy pillows and warm, woolen blankets. But why would it be so cold, then? Did one of their slaves forget to build up the fire again? He would need to talk to their- Dorian opened his eyes abruptly, the sleepy train of thought escaping him as he realized he wasn't home. That he was still out in this Maker-forsaken desert, and the stupid worm was _still_ pounding against the rocks. With a jolt, he realized the fur was not in his dream and he slowly pet the silver-white fuzz that was still in his face.

The beast shuddered and shifted and suddenly the fur became smooth skin. A lithe elven body next to him, soft and silky white hair that his fingers found easily. While he'd had sex with elves before – usually in the brothels, never a slave – he didn't recognize this one. His sleep-addled brain wondered if he was hungover. And then the elf turned over, eyes catching the moonlight, refracting the light and causing them to glow. He let out a trembling breath, always fascinated by the way they did that, and a little unnerved. The previous nights' activities came back to him, and he remembered that he had not slept with this gorgeous creature. _More's the pity._ And instead, they had been running for their lives after an irritated and power-hungry Servis had unleashed a giant half-metal, half-flesh worm with very large teeth.

"Are you petting me?" Fenris whispered, eyebrow raised.

Dorian quickly removed his hand. "Dreams."

Fenris made a deep grunting noise. "Do not touch me."

"My apologies."

"I don't like the way you smell."

Dorian scowled. "There's not much opportunity to bathe out here, but I think I do all right."

"No. Your blood. It smells."

"That can't be helped."

"I suppose not."

"I shall endeavor to not offend you further with my blood, then."

Fenris sighed. "No, it is… you were… forced?"

"Yes, but I'd rather not discuss it. It wasn't exactly the most pleasant time for me. How did you… Were you bitten then? By another wolf? I've never seen someone with those types of markings. Are you Dalish?" The questions just poured out of him. The brief moment last night of running for their lives didn't lend itself to much beyond cursory introductions.

Fenris rankled and when he spoke, while it was still a whisper, the sympathy had gone, replaced by anger "No. My master embedded lyrium into my skin. It burned into my flesh and altered me permanently. He forced me to change over and over, despite the agony it caused. Or perhaps because of it. Perhaps he just enjoyed seeing me in that pain. He did the same to Anders with a spirit of justice, an experiment after he'd lost me. A magister of Tevinter. And he's dead now. Good riddance."

Dorian flinched. "I'm sorry."

The apology seemed to soften Fenris just a little. "It was not your fault. Nor is it the fault of every mage. I… Hawke reminds me of this."

Dorian pursed his lips at the mention of Hawke. A simple sort of man, but perhaps he'd been quick to judge. He might be an idiot, but he seemed to be a good person. "So. A vampire without a demon, a spirit abomination who was forced, and a lyrium werewolf. That makes Hawke the normal one, I suppose."

"…Do not tell him that. He'll likely run off to seek a way to change himself to fit in."

"Hah. Well. You'll pardon me if I avoid speaking to him altogether."

"He is not a bad man."

"No," Dorian agreed, starting to see the bigger picture. "But he is annoying."

"That is something you'll get used to in time," Fenris said, and Dorian could just make out the faint curl of his lips into a small smirk.

"Will I? That would imply I'm staying with you."

Fenris frowned. "Of course, I…"

"I was joking." Still, Dorian wondered if it bothered Fenris if he was leaving once their tasks were completed. This elf who didn't like to be touched, and yet Dorian was curled right up next to him for the better part of the night. And Fenris hadn't been in his wolf form. Had he changed during the night? Perhaps to keep him warm? "We have to find Felix. Then I'll help you locate your deranged magister. I wouldn't mind coming along for that, unless Alexius has me doing something else, of course."

"Alexius?"

"My former patron. Good man. Helped me during the time of my life when help was most needed, if not welcome. He's a magister."

Fenris tensed.

"He doesn't condone blood magic," Dorian hastened to add. "And he treats his slaves well."

Fenris scowled and sat up. Apparently it was the wrong thing to say. He stalked over to where Hawke and Anders were sleeping, Hawke curled possessively around Anders. One leg was thrown over both of Anders', his arms wrapped tightly, holding him close. Anders' coat was spread out over top them both. Fenris leaned down and shook his shoulder a bit roughly. Hawke startled awake, which caused Anders to as well, and Dorian covered his mouth to suppress a chuckle at the momentary flailing.

"Andraste's flaming pyre, Fenris!" Hawke said, rubbing sleep from his eye. "We're going to set a new rule. Wake me up with coffee and a good morning kiss or something from now on."

"I shall leave that to the abomination. It's nearly dawn."

"You couldn't have waited for dawn? Or better, several hours after dawn?"

"Is your magic returned? We need a fire," Fenris said, nonplussed by Hawke's irritation.

"Go away, you ornery elf."

Fenris walked away, presumably to gather more firewood or perhaps take care of the business of nature. Hawke stretched widely while Anders pulled his coat on. Hawke leaned in and whispered something. Dorian watched surreptitiously, his own eyes adjusting quickly to the dark, though the sky was starting to lighten just a bit. He raised an eyebrow as the two shared a kiss, soft and lingering, and he tasted their arousal on the air. His stomach tightened pleasantly when Anders couldn't help a very soft, very quiet whimper when Hawke pulled back. While he'd possessed a rather voracious appetite for all things sexual before his forced physical alteration, it was somewhat worse after. He could taste and smell the blood of beings who were excited. Emotion as well as blood gave him a rush. And it was very clear these two were extremely attracted to one another. He wondered if Fenris could smell it as well.

"Good morning," Anders said pleasantly, looking past Hawke to Dorian. "How did you sleep?"

"The giant worm screeching and slamming against the rocks did wonders for my beauty rest," Dorian said. As if to prove his point, a loud rumbling roar built up and let loose over their little plateau, followed by a loud cracking noise.

"Well it's not silken sheets and satin pillows," Hawke grunted, moving to build up the fire.

"Of course not. Mixing silk and satin is an affront to all those with good taste," Dorian said, not appreciating Hawke's dig at his societal status. "But I suppose you wouldn't know anything about that."

Anders put a hand on Hawke's wrist. "It's been a long night. Can we…"

Hawke grunted, but turned away. His palm filled with flame, he attempted to get the fire started. Fenris returned a few minutes later, tossing down three dead nugs.

"There isn't much else," he said, somewhat apologetically. "With our packs gone…"

"It's fine. It's more than we had an hour ago," Hawke said, removing his boot knife. He started to skin them. "Do we have a pot or anything?"

"Looks like we'll have to cook them on the rocks. There's not much," Anders added. "But it's fine. I'm used to…" He shook his head. "Once we figure out where to go." He stood, stretching, and looked out toward the horizon. "It doesn't seem like the beast can penetrate rocks. If we can keep off the sand, we should be safe."

"And when we run out of rocks?" Fenris asked, sitting down next to Hawke to help him clean the meat, of which there wasn't much.

"I'm not sure," Anders admitted.

Dorian pressed his hand to his stomach, a twisting feeling in the pit. He remembered his pack, lost now, which contained his maps and the reserve of blood. While nug meat and organs would be just fine for them, he wouldn't survive for more than a day or two without a proper meal for himself. He'd only ever drunk from Alexius before. At least intentionally. It was a precaution they all agreed upon, and he was used to the taste of his blood and its effect on him. It would be rude to presume that one of his three new companions would allow him even the slightest sip, and he would not ask. Perhaps he could find another nug or another beast. The thought of drinking animal blood turned his stomach.

"Are you all right?" Anders asked, looking past Hawke and Fenris. He seemed the only one concerned.

"Just fine, thank you very much," Dorian said, trying to inject some pleasantness into his tone. He sat opposite them, on the other side of the fire.

"You want any?" Hawke asked, holding up a stick with a chunk of nug meat impaled on it. He was trying to be civil.

Dorian bit his tongue, then sighed. "No, thank you."

"Suit yourself."

He tried not to swear, even under his breath. Anders was looking at him curiously, though. "Yes?"

"You can't, can you? Eat normal food."

Dorian brushed his robes off distractedly, not too keen on the direction of the conversation. "If you must know, no, I can't. I've tried."

"Did you come to the Western Approach prepared?" Anders asked.

Dorian recognized the tone, the cadence. Anders was examining him as a healer would. His curiosity appeared to be professional and for his well-being, rather than for want of cutting him open and seeing what was inside. "I had enough to sustain me."

Anders frowned. Then he stood and crossed their little camp before kneeling in front of him. "Arm or neck?"

"Anders," Hawke started. "What are you-"

"He needs to eat, Hawke," Anders said, keeping his eyes on Dorian.

"What if it's contagious?" Hawke said. "You don't know-"

"Justice wouldn't let harm come to me. And we need all of us in the best shape to get out of this."

"And what about what happens to you after he sucks your blood?" Hawke said, putting aside his nug on a stick. Fenris was watching quietly as Hawke stood up. "Are you going to be in the 'best shape'?"

"I've never taken directly from a source before," Dorian admitted, looking to Anders. _Except that one time…_ But he refused to tell them about that. There were just some things you kept to yourself. "I don't believe I'll lose control, but if Fenris would consent to watch me. If I take more than just a few mouthfuls, I'll need to be subdued."

Fenris stood, brushing himself off and crossed toward them. Anders nodded gratefully at him. Hawke, realizing he lost this argument, stood with his arms crossed, glaring at Dorian. As if it was his fault, as if he asked for this. Anders was rolling up his sleeve though, and Dorian redirected his attention to the pale, almost translucent skin. He could see the thick blue vein, and almost embarrassingly, his mouth started to water. The scent was divine, and he carefully, almost reverently took Anders' forearm in his hands. His nails started to lengthen and his vision changed slowly, from the murky predawn grey to more vivid, vibrant colors. He knew his eyes shifted from their usual blue-grey, the whites disappearing and giving way to a flat black. Felix said once that he appeared demonic, but somehow sad. He lowered his head, fangs extending.

Anders gasped. Dorian's fangs pierced his skin, the saliva numbing the pain, but also creating the unfortunate side effect of an aphrodisiac. Anders' eyes fluttered closed, lips parted, breath coming in quiet, little pants. Dorian smelled his arousal and fought to contain himself. He would not lose himself to this. A few mouthfuls of blood and he was done. Sustenance, not destruction. And when the warm, silky taste of Anders' blood flowed over his tongue, he moaned obscenely. His tongue flickered over the puncture wounds and he sucked the sweetness from the vein. One mouthful. Two. Three. He needed to stop. Pushing away his base instinct, which was to keep going, to take as much as he wanted, to kill in order to sate his hunger. He swallowed thickly, then pulled away. Anders let out a shuddering breath and Dorian saw the obvious tenting in his trousers, visible beyond the parting of his coat.

"Better?" Anders asked, quickly pulling his arm back, healing the wound with a burst of magic. He shoved his sleeve down.

Dorian could see how undone he was. A base instinctual part of him wanted to pull him close, kiss him, bite him again. Take care of him, then kill him. "Yes. No more hunger. Thank you," he managed, his voice ragged. "Excuse me."

And before anyone could protest, he stood, turned on his heel, and strode quickly away.


	21. Here Comes the Sun: Act 3

Hawke was annoyed. He enjoyed a bit of banter as they traveled. Even if it was Fenris just correcting him and groaning at his bad jokes. But the mood was melancholic. And he was concerned for Anders. After Dorian walked away, they finished their breakfast in relative silence. Anders excused himself briefly, presumably to take care of the effects of the bite in private, and returned looking flushed and frustrated. And now they were scouting the steppe, looking for a way off that didn't involve running straight through the demon worm that wanted to eat them.

"You would think it would get bored and bugger off," Hawke snapped.

Anders offered him a small smile. "I can't imagine its brain is very large. It's likely going on pure instinct."

Hawke huffed. "Well that's just perfect. Look, there's another set of rocks to the north. We climb down and make a run for it."

"And who's going to be the sacrifice?" Dorian asked, holding a hand up against the bright morning sun. He was flinching. It obviously bothered him, though he hadn't started to smoke or smolder or whatever it was Hawke thought vampires should do in the sun.

"Why not you?" Hawke shot back. "No big loss."

"Hawke," Anders sighed. "Look, there has to be a way-"

"I'll do it," Fenris said, interrupting them.

"No, no way." Hawke moved in front of Fenris, hand splayed on his chest. "You could die."

Fenris gripped his wrist, looking up at him. "I won't. I'm the fastest. I'll divert its attention so you can reach the other rock, then I'll join you."

Hawke shook his head, holding Fenris's gaze. He understood the selflessness, but they couldn't risk it. _Can't stay on this stupid rock forever, either,_ the more logical side of his brain supplied. But it was _Fenris._ He knew he had a problem with caring too much about the people in his life. Losing them was difficult. And when they died? He blamed himself. Even if it wasn't his fault, even if he knew that it wasn't, he still did. And if Fenris died trying to help them?

"This is my decision, Hawke."

"You're a fucking prick, Fenris."

Fenris's features flickered into amusement before returning to his usual stoic expression. "I won't die. I promise."

"And if you break that promise, I'm going to find a way into the fucking Fade and drag your sorry-ass soul back into your corpse and reanimate you."

"…I don't believe it works that way," Fenris said, eyebrow raised.

Hawke scowled, shoving him roughly. "Go. You stupid puppy."

Fenris looked at Anders. "Take care of him if anything goes wrong."

Anders nodded, taking an unconscious step toward Hawke, his fingers brushing gently along Hawke's arm. Fenris looked to Dorian, gave a nod, then transformed. He let out a howl before racing off to get the worm's attention.

"Time to go," Hawke said, slamming the edge of his staff against the rock. "Once it moves away. Haste spells and shields up."

Anders provided both, and Hawke slung his staff on his back, climbing down to the lowest level of the rock, ready to jump. The worm let out an ear-splitting roar.

"NOW!"

They ran across the sand as quickly as they could. Maybe last night Hawke just didn't realize how difficult it was to run on sand. Or maybe the ground was rockier by the giant pit where the box had been opened. The result was he was left panting for breath, even with the haste spell aiding their passage. The ground rumbled and shook under their feet, and Anders lost his footing. Dorian grabbed him by the back of his coat and hauled him up.

"Don't stop!"

Fighting for breath, a stitch in his side now, Hawke reached the rocks first. He laced his fingers and looked at Dorian. "You first."

Dorian didn't argue, and pulled himself up onto the rock ledge, using Hawke for leverage. Once up, he helped Anders, and together they grabbed Hawke's wrists. He kicked at the rock wall, trying to get his footing, when he heard a loud yelp echoing across the valley.

"Fenris?!"

"Hawke, give me your hand!" Anders said, reaching down frantically.

Another yelp, and Hawke felt his heart leap into his throat. He pulled his staff from his back. The worm rounded the rocks they'd just escaped, blood dripping from its razor-like teeth. Fenris was nowhere in sight.

"Fenris!"

He heard Anders calling out for him, but his only focus was getting to Fenris. He twirled his staff, a dazzling spark of electricity shooting from the tip toward the worm, distracting it. His other hand splayed, thin lines of energy spilling from his fingertips. He whipped them around, catching the worm on the fleshy part of its middle. It roared and reared back. Hawke wound up again for another strike. Concentrating on the face and pseudo-head, he didn't see the tail until it was too late. The tip, armored in plate metal, slammed into him, knocking him through the air and into the sand. Pain blossomed from his chest, and he gasped for breath. His fingers came away sticky with blood when he touched where he'd been hit, and the edges of his vision blurred. The worm came closer, stalking him cautiously. Hawke couldn't summon the energy to call up his electric wires. The worm leaned up to strike.

A long, loud howl broke through the chaos, and Fenris, bleeding from several wounds, raced forward, leaping up to claw and tear at the worm's fleshy parts. A second later, twin spirals of flame and a jet of ice hit the top of its eyeless head. Dorian and Anders stood next to one another, staves in hand. Hawke felt the wound in his chest burn, and a burst of rejuvenation filled his muscles. It wasn't enough. The worm was too big, too powerful, and too armored for them to handle. He struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his staff.

"What in the bloody flames is _that_?" he heard Dorian call.

A dot against the sun growing larger and larger. A bird, Hawke thought, made of fire, with a long tail and a brilliant crest of feathers on its head. Something out of legend, he had never seen it before. Only its mortal brethren, ugly and grey, covered in scales and land-bound with only a smattering of feathers. A phoenix. They were mythical, extinct, but Hawke knew that's what this bird had to be. It called loudly, a lyrical sound, drawing the worm's attention. Fenris dropped back, limped a few paces toward them, then dropped to the sand. Hawke scrambled to his side, kneeling down, pressing his hands to the bloodied fur.

"Poor pup," he whispered. "Fenris?"

Fenris whined and transformed back, his armor broken and shirt torn, a bloody gash running the length of his side. Anders knelt next to him, a ball of blue healing magic in his palm. Hawke moved aside, hand on Fenris's shoulder, while he looked up to see where the bird had led the worm.

"We shouldn't stay idle," Dorian warned. "It'll be back."

"To the rocks then," Anders said. "He's going to be fine. Likely out of it for a bit. Hawke, can you-"

Hawke was already pulling Fenris up and over his shoulders. Anders collected his staff and they limped back toward the rocks, hoping to get to safety before the worm returned. It took the concentrated effort from all three of them to get Fenris up, and Hawke just managed to scramble up to the ledge when the phoenix song filled the air again. The worm screeched and dove under the sand to get away from the bird, which flew toward them. Hawke put up an arm to shield himself, but it stopped short, transformed lightning-quick from a majestic, ethereal creature to a man, who dropped into a crouch.

"FELIX!"

The speed and strength at which Dorian threw himself at the newcomer, Hawke thought for a moment they'd both go tumbling off the ledge. Felix held his ground, thumping Dorian on the back. So this was his missing friend?

"You could've mentioned he was a phoenix," Hawke said, and turned back to Fenris, who was half-conscious, but alive.

"Well I didn't know, now did I? And speaking of," Dorian said, gripping Felix's shoulder tightly, unwilling to let him go. "You should explain."

The grin slid from Felix's face and he shook his head. "It was bad, Dorian. The kidnapping, the…"

"We'll stop Servis," Dorian said, the jovial mood passed.

"It's not Servis. Whoever he's working for, that's Father's target."

"Your father is working against RTD?" Hawke asked hopefully.

"You know about him?" Felix looked at him, eyes widening suddenly in recognition. "You're Hawke."

Hawke was confused a moment, then figured his name was more popular in Thedas than he thought, not just the Free Marches. "The one and only. Well. There's my brother, I guess."

"Father will want to talk to you. I think he's got a job-"

The ground rumbled. The sand shook, then parted, falling into a hole which slowly formed just a hundred feet from them. And the ledge they were on wasn't nearly high enough for protection.

"Get on," Felix ordered, and stood back, transforming once again into a brilliant bird. This time, instead of fire and sunlight, his feathers solidified, turning red and black.

Dorian hesitated only a moment but pulled himself up the phoenix's wing, onto his back. Hawke hefted Fenris in his arms and with Anders' help, they managed to settle on Felix, who took off carefully, flying them away from the worm, away from the Western Approach, and out of Orlais.


	22. Man Behind the Curtain: Act 1

The sight of a giant phoenix flying over the city of Minrathous would have been chaotic at best, suicidal at worst. They landed on the outskirts of a border city of Tevinter and the Anderfels. Tired, dirty, and wounded, with night approaching swiftly, they decided to cease in their travels for now and took a hired carriage to Val Dorma, one of the larger cities of Tevinter along the Imperial Highway. Fenris hated all of it. But then he never thought he would ever return to Tevinter, and to have come back twice now in as many months, it was unsettling. Hawke continued to cast looks his way as he limped a little. His friend was concerned for him, and it gave him strength. No matter that they'd gained three others in their little party, he wouldn't lose Hawke's companionship.

"We'll stay somewhere nondescript. More subtle," Dorian said. "Less people who know who we are. I don't like being this close to Asariel."

"Why's that?" Hawke asked.

"My… father happens to lord over the area and I'd just like to avoid it, that's all."

The 'nondescript' tavern they found was a four-story lodging with an impressive foyer and dining room separate from the kitchen. They were greeted by an impeccable man in expensive silks, who looked them all over with a critical eye.

"I beg your pardon," he started, "but I do think-" He broke off suddenly, looking at Dorian. "Young Master Pavus! Excuse me, I did not think to see you back from your travels."

_So much for not being recognized, _Fenris thought, as Dorian pursed his lips before turning on the charm. He listened to Dorian schmooze the man, arranging the 'honeymoon' suite for them, which was apparently kept empty in case someone important showed up. Further to Fenris's annoyance, several elven slaves stood at the ready. Thankfully they had no baggage to be brought up, just the dirty and torn clothing they wore. The man called for an elf to show them to the room, and promised spare sets of clothes for them all.__

__The suite was impossibly large, several couches and chairs clustered around a large fireplace. A hall led them to two bedrooms and one bathing chamber made of black and white marble, with mirrors lining the wall opposite. Several clean and fresh bathrobes hung on a carved wooden rack, and a pile of white towels sat close to the sunken pool which was already full of water that just needed to be heated. His senses were assaulted at once by the incense and soaps in silver trays. A row of showers with golden dragon head spouts stood to their left. Dorian was the first to react, shrugging, then stripping without any shame. Fenris tried hard not to watch, but he wasn't the only one looking. Hawke scowled and nudged Anders, who looked away, but the mirrors were everywhere._ _

__"Might as well take advantage," Dorian said, tossing his ruined clothing into a bin, flicking a pair of black silky smalls on top before heading toward the shower stalls. "After this we'll order up for supper. I'm starving. And Felix, I want all the details."_ _

__Felix smirked, shaking his head exasperatedly before looking at the other three. "Felix Alexius," he introduced himself, and shook their hands in turn. "Despite Dorian's brashness, I think he's right."_ _

__"Of course I'm right," Dorian said, over the sound of the water spray. "And after looking for _your_ sorry backside for weeks now, I need to wash the sand out of mine, thank you very much. What your father is going to say about your new ability…"_ _

__"He'll put the blame where it's due," Felix said, and stripped as well, though less brazenly, wrapping a towel around his waist as he walked to another stall._ _

__Fenris followed suit quickly, though he noticed Hawke's gaze lingering over Anders as they undressed. It was inevitable, he supposed, and turned away to give them their privacy. The water was warm and wonderful, and turned pink as it sluiced away the dried blood. The wound that he suffered from the worm was closed, a pale white scar that would no doubt fade subtly broke through his lyrium lines. He took the washcloth in hand and started to scrub away the dirt._ _

__"Fresh clothing here," came a young, feminine voice. "Will you need anything else, Master Pavus?"_ _

__Fenris tensed. An elven slave. One who addressed Dorian as master, though he knew Dorian didn't actually _own_ her. He was reentering the culture he'd fought so hard to leave. That, coupled with the blood loss, the excitement of the past few days, left him woozy. He pressed a hand against the wall of the shower stall, breathing heavily. In his anxiety, he didn't hear Dorian's response, and the door to the bathing room shut again. His vision tunneled._ _

__When he opened his eyes again, he was on the floor of the shower, Hawke kneeling next to him, wrapped in a soaking wet towel. Another was covering his own waist and modesty. Felix and Dorian stood above him, looking concerned, and Anders was on his other side, hand on his forehead. He was naked, but didn't seem to care, peering into Fenris's eyes._ _

__"Good, you're back," he said, relieved. "You had a panic attack and couldn't breathe. How do you feel?"_ _

__"Dizzy." Fenris took a breath._ _

__"That's it. Deep, then let it out. Let's sit you up. And ah, if I could get a towel?" he asked, looking at Felix and Dorian._ _

__"Well I was enjoying the view," Dorian said, but reached to hand him one._ _

__Anders wrapped it around his waist while Fenris leaned against Hawke, a muscled arm pulling him upright. His head swam, and his markings lit when Anders soothed away the vertigo with a bit of magic._ _

__"Sorry," Anders said, pushing back his hair so he could look into his eyes again. "Pupils are reactive. You seem lucid. How are you feeling now?"_ _

__"Still a bit dizzy," Fenris said. "A little confused."_ _

__"You're likely exhausted and need food. Let's get you dried off and dressed. They're bringing up room service shortly."_ _

__Fenris allowed Hawke and Anders both to pull him to his feet, legs shaking a little. The towel dropped and Anders was quick to wrap it back around his waist. Hawke waved Dorian and Felix back, and Fenris didn't argue, being pulled toward the pile of clean clothes._ _

__"Was looking forward to a nice long soak," Hawke said, sighing dramatically. "You always ruin my fun, Fenris."_ _

__Fenris scoffed. "You do well enough on your own."_ _

__"That's true. And my life would be awfully boring without you," Hawke added. "Could you guys give us a minute?"_ _

__Fenris glanced over his shoulder. Felix gently hit Dorian on the arm, grabbed up the bundle of clothes meant for him, and left. Dorian followed albeit reluctantly._ _

__"Anders, if you wouldn't mind?" Hawke asked, settling Fenris on a wooden bench._ _

__"Of course," Anders said graciously. He paused, but kissed Hawke on the cheek before lightly touching Fenris's shoulder and left, taking another bundle with him._ _

__"He's… hm."_ _

__Hawke smirked and pulled another towel from the pile. To Fenris's surprise and pleasure, Hawke started to dry him off, neglecting himself for the moment. "Yeah, it's something. Probably drawn to my witty charm and rugged good looks."_ _

__"You have no charm."_ _

__"I'm the most charming!"_ _

__"You're an idiot."_ _

__"They're not mutually exclusive," Hawke said, mock defensively. "Lift up."_ _

__Fenris did, but took the towel from Hawke before Hawke could take it upon himself to dry off his more private areas. He did, however, allow Hawke to help dress him. "I'm not an invalid."_ _

__"Shut up. You'd do it for me."_ _

__He would. He had in times past, especially when Hawke was too drunk or hung over to do it himself. Otherwise incapacitated. He couldn't imagine Carver doing it, and again considered himself – perhaps a bit pettily – to be the better brother. He lifted his arms and Hawke pulled the tunic over his head. It was too large, but soft._ _

__"Look, Fenris."_ _

__"Do we have to talk about our feelings?" Fenris asked, looking at him seriously. He didn't think he had the energy to rehash the day. He did what he needed to do to keep Hawke and the others safe. And Hawke, the idiot, sacrificed himself as well._ _

__Instead of talking, Hawke stood and drew him into a tight bear hug, lifting him up off the ground. Despite his claim to masculinity and all things strong, Hawke was a marshmallow inside. He was good, most of the time at least, at keeping those feelings hidden. The perception was that he was a sarcastic, macho personality who thought himself funnier than he actually was. But he cared very deeply for his friends and family. And Fenris was no exception. When he could move his arms again, he returned the hug, sighing heavily before stepping away._ _

__"Are you finished?"_ _

__Hawke scowled and gave him a light shove. "Yes, asshole, I'm done." He dropped his towel and started to dress. "So. Two bedrooms."_ _

__Fenris pursed his lips and crossed his arms._ _

__"Do you think-"_ _

__"I'll arrange it so that you and Anders can have one, yes."_ _

__"You're my best friend."_ _

__And though Hawke was likely just saying it to thank him, Fenris knew that he meant it._ _

__-_ _

__Fed and watered, except for Dorian who couldn't partake of the room service though he indulged a little in the wine, they were feeling much better after._ _

__"I've sent a letter on ahead to my father in Minrathous," Felix informed them. "He won't mind a bit of company for a while."_ _

__"Does he have information on RTD?" Hawke asked. He was sitting on a loveseat with Anders, arm around him. Anders leaned against him, and did not seem to mind._ _

__Dorian and Felix took up twin armchairs by the fire, while Fenris actually felt more comfortable on the floor, nursing his own bottle of wine, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. He didn't think much of the class system in Tevinter, but he did miss the occasional indulgences his country had to offer. As comfortable as Hawke's estate had become to him, there was something foreign about it that he felt would never match up to a Tevinter house._ _

__"He does," Dorian said, legs crossed, fingers steepled against his lips. "He's been tracking him for some time now. It's unusual that a magister with that much power would want to hide his true identity. I'm afraid I personally don't know much about it. I've been out of the country for some time. Speaking of," he continued, turning back to Felix._ _

__Felix cleared his throat. "I'd like to skip the details. I'm sure you understand. But it was Servis on an order from RTD. He let it slip that they were working together. Apparently I was supposed to be altered for their purpose. They know my father is working against them. I'm afraid this will only increase his fervor."_ _

__"Afraid?" Dorian snorted. "Well, if I was on the receiving end of your father's ire, I would definitely be afraid. But you've nothing to worry about."_ _

__"Maybe not," Felix agreed. "But you know how Father gets. He'll like you three, though," he hastened to add._ _

__"Why wouldn't he?" Hawke said. "We're amusing and entertaining."_ _

__Fenris snorted. He didn't fancy meeting this magister. After all, his experiences with them had never been good. However, Felix had risked his own life to save theirs. And watching him interact with Dorian he thought perhaps they weren't too terrible. He only hoped that Hawke knew what he was doing. Likely not, though. Hawke always played it by ear. The plans always went to shit anyway. And he was heading toward mildly drunk. He frowned at the near empty bottle of wine._ _

__"All the better," Felix said sincerely._ _

__"Well." Hawke stretched and yawned. "I think I'll head to sleep." He stood, looking at Anders pointedly before addressing the others. "Good night then," he said, and walked toward the first bedroom._ _

__Anders blushed slightly but stood as well. "Good night. Thank you for the accommodations," he added to Dorian._ _

__Dorian's lips curled into a sly smirk. "Enjoy them."_ _

__"Good night," Felix said, curtailing the embarrassment Dorian's comment caused, as Anders' blush increased, and he hurried to follow Hawke._ _

__"Well they make a bit of an adorable couple," Dorian noted. "Fenris, pass the wine."_ _

__Fenris handed him the bottle, then lay down on the floor, curled up with the blanket around him cocoon-like._ _

__"Are you going to sleep here?" Dorian asked, refilling his glass with the last dregs._ _

__"Hn."_ _

__"The bed should be big enough for the three of us if you want to share."_ _

__"At the very least, take a couch," Felix urged._ _

__Fenris smelled Dorian's blood before he felt him kneel next to him. Arms around his shoulders, and he leaned against him. "You smell."_ _

__"You're so complimentary when you're inebriated. Felix, are you coming?"_ _

__Felix waved them on. "Have a good rest, Dorian. I'll wake you in the morning."_ _

__"Preferably not too early. Daylight still doesn't agree with me very much."_ _

__Fenris followed Dorian into the second bedroom. He heard, faintly through the walls, a quiet moan and Anders whispering something to Hawke. Dorian snorted and pulled back the covers of the bed before depositing Fenris gently._ _

__"Good to see they're getting along. I thought…"_ _

__"Hm?" Fenris asked, curling up, feeling tired and warm and safe. His friend was close by and happy. Even if he was happy with an abomination of all people. Their newest recruit was a vampire, and they were about to share a bed. And furthermore, he had a feeling that despite his animosity for Dorian, Hawke would collect him as well._ _

__"I thought, mistakenly perhaps when we first met, that you and Hawke…"_ _

__"Friends," Fenris said, covering a yawn. "Brothers."_ _

__And as he fell asleep, he thought he heard Dorian mutter something about that being a very good thing indeed._ _


	23. Man Behind the Curtain: Act 2

The carriage ride that took them to Minrathous moved far too quickly for Dorian's tastes. He jiggled his knee nervously as he stared out the window, and only stopped when Felix knocked his own against him. Clearing his throat, he forced a smile at the other three inhabitants of the cab. It was difficult to remember he'd only known them a short time, and yet he felt very close to them. He supposed that was what happened when you were thrown into a life or death situation with total strangers, and considered them carefully. Hawke seemed to be the leader of sorts. A hot-headed Fereldan with the manners of an Antivan gutter rat. But someone who inspired fierce loyalty. Anders, though he was an abomination, lacked the true definition of the word. Kind and compassionate, and talented with healing. And Fenris? Well, aside from being extremely attractive, he was extremely noble. And his friends very obviously cared about him. There were worse people to bring home to Alexius, after all.

What he was truly worried about was his own failure. Though Felix was right and Alexius would put the blame on Servis and the one holding Servis's leash, he still felt awful. He'd set out to find who'd taken Felix and put things to right. And now he couldn't even say he'd gotten vengeance. Servis was still out there, alive, biding his time. If he'd killed him in the Western Approach, his death would've been quietly swept under the carpet. A hazard of whatever project he'd been working on. If he came back to the Imperium? There would be a confrontation. People were killed all the time at parties, but it would be talked about. The spotlight would be on them if Servis were to die at an event held by Alexius. Dorian wished he'd been able to stop him.

Felix touched his wrist, and Dorian let out a sigh. "It's just been awhile since I've been home, that's all."

"Father will be glad to see you."

"I only wish I was as confident as you are."

"Well, you won't have to wonder any longer."

The carriage rolled up to Alexius's estate, and Felix descended first, rolling his shoulders and stretching his arms. "It's so nice to see the city again. Maker, I never thought I would."

Dorian laughed wryly. "I know what you mean. Well, if I'm going to die, it might as well be in Minrathous. You know how unfashionable it would have been to expire in Orlais of all places?"

"Far be it from you to be unfashionable," Felix said, nudging him.

"Like some common Orlesian. No self-respecting Tevinter would die anywhere outside his own country."

"And now you're stalling." Felix started toward the manor.

Dorian let out a breath, watching as Hawke and Anders followed. He glanced at Fenris, who also seemed to be hesitating. "I'm just not sure how my former patron's going to react to the fact that I've gotten his own son turned into a giant flaming bird."

"I expect he'll simply be happy to have his son back. Bird or no." Fenris looked at the house. "It… has been some time since I've been in a proper magister's house."

So wrapped up inside his own head, Dorian didn't think what it would be like for someone like Fenris to be here. "Alexius is a good man. He'll treat you well."

"And he keeps slaves."

Dorian frowned. "Yes. All nobles do, or so I'm led to believe based on the markets."

"And that makes it right, I suppose."

"I'm not saying that. But you're not a slave."

"No. I am not. But I was."

"If you'd prefer not to come in-"

Fenris raised an eyebrow. "And what? Sit in the carriage until Hawke deems it time to return to Kirkwall?"

"I suppose that would be a bit awkward. You saved my life, Fenris. Twice. And the others. And you aided Felix. Alexius will be grateful. He won't be rude. And if he is, I'll take that responsibility."

"And what would you say to him?"

"I'm sure I'll think of something. I'm much better at coming up with witticisms on the spot."

Fenris grunted. "It's a wonder you and Hawke don't get along better."

Dorian felt slightly offended at that. But he thought it would be in poor taste to point out the insult of the comparison when he was trying to be a decent host. "Shall we?"

Fenris huffed, but nodded, and followed Dorian toward the house. Felix broke into a light jog, heading for his father's study. Dorian, anxious, hung back as Felix opened the door.

"Father!"

Alexius looked up from his desk, from the mountain of papers, and Dorian watched his expression change from annoyed at being interrupted, to confused, to recognition. His chair nearly toppled in his haste to get out of it, and he met Felix halfway into the room, embracing his son with abandon. Words were lost in relief and excitement, and Dorian wrapped his arms around himself, looking away with tears in his eyes.

"Dorian."

Dorian looked up, straightening, arms uncrossing. Alexius looked reluctant to leave Felix's side, so Dorian crossed the room and relaxed only when Alexius hugged him as well, pressing a kiss to his cheek.

"You saved my son."

Dorian laughed. "More like he saved us. But I'm sure he'll want to tell that tale for himself. My friends, who helped," he said, gesturing at the other three. "Garrett Hawke, Anders, and Fenris."

Hawke was looking at Alexius, appraising him, eyes narrowed slightly. Dorian hoped he wasn't about to curtail an argument about slavery, not in this happy moment, when Hawke spoke up.

"I know you."

Dorian expected Alexius to laugh, or perhaps to acknowledge that they met in passing at some party that Hawke crashed once. He did seem the type. But Alexius, one hand still on Felix's shoulder, nodded.

"I knew your father. We were friends. He was one of the best hunters I'd ever met."

Hawke took the runestone from his pocket. "You knew my father. But you're not a hunter."

Alexius laughed lightly, looking at Felix. "I was. Then Felix came along and I decided I was better off helping other hunters. Someone needed to look after people like your father. I promised him I would do the same for you."

"So it's you," Fenris said. "You're the voice."

Alexius looked to Fenris and nodded. "I am. It's good to finally meet you. Fen'Elgar."

Fenris shrugged a bit modestly Dorian thought, though there was a bit of a blush to his cheeks as he looked away.

"Well," Alexius breathed. "You all likely have a very exciting story to tell. Let's move to the lounge so we can hear it."

"And there's something else," Felix said. "But I think you should be sitting down for it."

The smile on Alexius's face faltered. "Oh dear."

"It's nothing bad," Felix hastened to add.

Dorian wondered if that was the truth or not. Nevertheless, they followed Felix and Alexius out of the study and toward one of the lounges.

-

Alexius took the news better than Dorian had hoped, Fenris thought. The man was respectable. And finding out that he was Hawke's contact softened the blow of being entertained by a magister. His wine helped as well. They spoke late through supper and late into the evening, Fenris learning the details of Felix's story, how he was kidnapped and what happened after. He thought Felix spared some of the worse bits for his father's sake, knowing exactly how brutal these magisters could be when it came to their experiments. And Alexius of course invited them all to stay. There would be time in the morning to discuss their next move against RTD.

They'd said good night and Felix showed them to their rooms, Hawke following Anders into a bedroom, but not before tossing a very obvious wink to Fenris. And now Fenris was restless and unable to sleep. The room was no less lavish than his quarters at Hawke's place, or the room he'd stayed in the previous night. He rose and walked the winding corridors until he found the doors to the courtyard and stepped outside, breathing in the night air. A scent on the wind caught his attention, and he looked over.

"Couldn't sleep either?" Dorian asked, sitting on a stone bench. He glanced away, looking up at the moon and stars. "They're different in the city." He slid over and patted the spot next to him.

Fenris hesitated, but went. "In the Free Marches as well."

"So you've traveled a lot, then?"

"With Hawke, I get to see a bit of everything," Fenris admitted. "Hunting takes us to strange places. I follow. I owe him my life."

"Hm. But that life is yours."

"I would choose no other place than Hawke's side."

Dorian smiled. "It's good, that. Having a place you want to be."

Fenris tilted his head a little, watching him. "And you don't?"

"Ah. The Western Approach wasn't the first time I've been out of Tevinter. But it's the first I've gone for something that wasn't a luxurious holiday. If it wasn't for Alexius, I'd be mostly on my own."

"Does it have to do with your being a vampire?" Fenris wasn't privy to Dorian's second feeding, though he presumed he took blood from Alexius.

"That… is a story."

"My master put these markings into my skin and I lost my memory from the agony it caused me. They come every so often, glimpses of what it was like before. But that life is no longer mine. Hawke… helps. I don't talk about it often."

"I imagine you wouldn't want to," Dorian said. He lifted a hand, hesitating a moment, then gently touched his skin between the lines.

Fenris resisted the instinct to pull away. Dorian's fingers were warm to the touch, and he remembered the comfortable feeling he had the previous night, curled under the blankets with him. And the night before that, next to him by the fire. By all rights, he should have been repulsed. Angry. A blood mage turned vampire getting too close. But it was like how it was with Anders. A forced experiment. And now Felix. If they didn't stop RTD soon, more would fall.

"Tell me how it happened."

Dorian let out a breath, dropping his hand. "My father. He decided it was time to do something about my unwillingness to marry and sire an heir."

Fenris flinched. Though not actually a part of Tevinter's upper elite, he'd been close enough to it that he knew the intricacies of marriage and bloodlines.

"Mother pursued the idea of… changing me. Father came up with the details. Something went wrong. I ended up possessed. Lost in the Fade, I'm told, while my body began to deteriorate here in the mortal world. The ritual… I'm not sure what would have happened if it actually succeeded."

"What happened? How did you escape? I thought… you were an abomination."

"Not quite," Dorian explained. "I was only possessed in the Fade. I kept the demons from entering my waking body. At least I was strong enough for that. Three demons fighting for my soul, I'm to understand. Desire, hunger, and rage. I expect that a lot of my own emotion drew them in." He cleared his throat. "Alexius, actually. He found out what Father was doing and they entered the Fade to save my life. I suppose I should give my father more credit. He could have left me lifeless, a shell of myself. An accident, he'd tell everyone. Then he and mother might try again for an heir who would…" He sighed. "Alexius wouldn't stand for that. And my father was good enough to recognize his mistake."

"And your mother?"

"She… died. They won't tell me exactly how. The ritual to enter the Fade they used in order to free me of the possession required blood. A lot of it. They led me to believe that she sacrificed herself, but I know my mother. She wouldn't sacrifice herself to save the world, let alone her only son. I believe they killed her."

Fenris swore quietly. "I… am sorry."

Dorian shrugged. "It was some time ago. And then Felix disappeared before I could become too much of an embarrassment here. A vampire heir, can you imagine? I'm still disowned, technically. I expect I'll have to confront that sooner or later. Until then, I have Alexius."

They fell silent for a while, watching the moon and the stars. Fenris closed his eyes, feeling the light wind on his face, the scent of flowers in the yard, and then looked at Dorian.

"You should come with us."

"Pardon?"

"To fight RTD. We could use your help."

"Me? Hm. I suppose that could work. Heroically traversing Thedas, stopping his evil minions and saving the world."

Fenris grunted. Dorian's ego was starting to sound a lot like Hawke's. "Well?"

"And this has nothing to do with you not wanting to be a third wheel to your friend's new relationship?"

Together they looked toward the open bedroom window that belonged to Hawke and Anders. Asleep now and quiet, but the scent of sex was light upon the air. While Fenris was happy for Hawke, it hurt a little to feel left out. Not that he'd want to join in _that_ activity.

"A bit," he admitted.

Dorian's hand found his own once again through the dark, and held it gently. "Well, I suppose you're good company. You can keep me entertained and I'll keep you distracted from their amorous activities."

Fenris chuckled quietly. "Do not get your hopes up."

"Wouldn't dream of it."

Neither spoke for a while, enjoying the evening as creatures of the night and the shadows, and Fenris felt an odd camaraderie with him. In the end, they said good night and parted ways, and Fenris found himself ready for the days to come.


	24. Man Behind the Curtain: Act 3

Breakfast was an amiable affair. Hawke would be sad to leave Alexius's house, though there were things to do and bad guys to smite and all that. The revelation that Alexius was on the other side of the runestone was eye-opening. To hear him talk about his father was something else. Something precious. And in the way that Alexius spoke with his son, it reminded him of Malcolm just a bit. Apparently the network of mages and their companions stretched across Thedas, from Seheron all the way to the southern cities of Ferelden. Whenever someone of talent was found, they were indoctrinated in the ways of the hunt. Which more or less involved learning how to beat up monsters and other horrific things while not getting killed. The thing was, he was the only hunter he knew of who 'collected' the monsters he'd gone off to hunt.

He was, of course, thinking about Fenris, who was a permanent staple by his side. Other hunters would see him destroyed for the violence and carnage that followed in his wake. He was a dangerous beast, but he was _Hawke's_ dangerous beast and damned if he was going to let anyone touch him. And now there was Anders. By all rights, he should have ended up back in the Circle and made Tranquil. If one could make an abomination Tranquil. But Anders was so gentle. At least when Justice wasn't in charge. And while Hawke was wary of the spirit inside him, he didn't put any of that blame at Anders' feet. He thought about last night, eyes glazing over as he listened to Alexius catch Felix and Dorian up on the political situation in Tevinter.

_"I really, really like you."_

_Anders laughed. "I would hope so. Otherwise last night would have been a bit awkward."_

_"What?" Hawke asked, taking him around the waist. "You don't let people who hate you suck your cock?"_

_"You say the most romantic things, Hawke."_

_"I really do. That's not all my mouth is good for though."_

_"I'm quite aware." Anders kissed him softly, and they fell to the bed together._

_"Let me make love to you tonight."_

_"Hawke…"_

_"Please," Hawke urged. "It might be the last night for a long time we actually get to sleep in a bed. And I don't know how this thing with RTD is going to go down. I just want one happy thing to remember."_

_Anders thought about it, kissing him again, running his fingers through Hawke's hair. "Yes, all right."_

They hadn't gotten much sleep, but it was worth it. And to wake in Anders' arms, head against his shoulder, it was worth it. He never thought he'd find that kind of happiness. Not while his job forced him on the road so often. While settling down had never been in the cards, he thought he could see a life with Anders. Traveling on the road, righting wrongs. But would Anders want that? He would have to ask him. It was too soon to be thinking of something like marriage anyway. And he wasn't entirely sure there was a precedent set for that in Kirkwall. They would be the first! Trendsetters. He wondered if Anders would like that.

"Sorry?" he asked, realizing the conversation shifted and Alexius was looking at him.

"Don't mind him, he didn't get a lot of sleep," Dorian said with a sly wink.

Hawke scowled. "Not your business." He felt Anders touch his knee under the table, and calmed. "Sorry," he said again to Alexius.

"Never mind that," Alexius said graciously. "I'm still looking into several leads. We have quite a few hunters off their normal cases, focused on this task right now. But I have no one who knows Ferelden quite as well as you. Redcliffe is the next stop for more information. There were recent reports of possible undead, but no one can get close enough to investigate. I wouldn't trust this to just anyone. Are you up for it?"

"Storming a castle full of possible undead? That sounds right up my alley," Hawke said, grinning.

"You are far too excited for this," Dorian said. "Good thing you'll have me as backup."

Hawke looked at Dorian, then caught Fenris's eye, and realized what happened when Fenris looked quickly away. "…Fine," he relented. Fenris looked up, surprised, and Hawke nodded. Fenris was taking his rather quick courtship with Anders well. If he wanted a pretty mage of his own, Hawke wasn't going to deny him. And having a vampire around to fight undead might not go amiss. "What about your condition?"

"Alexius will have me all stocked up by tomorrow morning. Barring that, there's always…" He glanced at Anders, and Hawke felt an icy drop in the pit of his stomach. "One of you, I suppose."

Alexius frowned. "Dorian-"

"I drank from Anders," Dorian said. "Without any adverse effects. No real issues. It's not difficult to control the urge, just… what happens during and after."

Anders blushed, and Hawke covered his hand, squeezing tightly.

"I'll volunteer," Fenris spoke up. "Provided the lyrium doesn't interfere."

"I'm not sure-" Dorian started.

"No," Hawke said at the same time.

"Well, at least you two can agree on something," Anders huffed. "Ultimately it should be Fenris's decision. We can start with taking a bit of his blood for Dorian to drink to test it here, before we're forced to worry about it on the field."

"Spoken like a true healer," Alexius said, pleased. "This group is lucky to have you. And I would feel better sending Dorian along knowing what you're capable of."

Anders' smile was humble and slightly shy. "Shall we after breakfast then? And we can leave tomorrow."

Dorian still looked hesitant. "I suppose I should be the one to bring up the very large elephant in the room."

"Danarius used them to boost his own magical ability," Fenris said, confirming what was on their minds. "But it is something I offer freely, not something you take from the unwilling. Provided it doesn't make you sick, I think we should try."

"Very gracious of you," Alexius said. "I am proud of all of you. Taking the challenges presented and overcoming them."

Hawke shrugged a little. He didn't feel particularly challenged. Everyone at the table except for him and Alexius were experimented on, victims of evil magisters or good intentions gone wrong. 

"Especially you," Alexius said, looking at Hawke.

"Me? What have I done?"

"Yes, pray tell," Dorian said, with an edge of sarcasm.

"Enduring loss can be its own hardship, Dorian," Alexius said. And while his tone was light, there was something behind it.

Felix frowned, and Dorian shifted uncomfortably.

"Apologies."

"Forgiven." Alexius looked at Hawke. "Malcolm would be proud."

Hawke swallowed hard past the lump in his throat, and nodded. Losing his father had been one of the hardest things he'd ever been through. While his mother's death was horrible and he missed her every day, he'd always been closer to his father. "Thank you. If you'll excuse me."

He was glad when Anders followed a minute later, and their hands found one another, fingers entwined as they returned to their room. Once inside, Hawke leaned into his lover's arms, and held tightly.

"I want to kill this son of a bitch," Hawke said. "RTD. For my father. I want to do something to really make him proud of me."

Anders kissed the top of his head. "We will. We'll find him and stop him. I promise."

Hawke looked up and kissed him, gripping the lapels of his coat before pulling away. "I really do like you."

Anders laughed. "So you've said." He brushed a bit of Hawke's hair from his forehead. "So we'll leave tomorrow. But tonight will be for us."

"Again?"

"Twice. Or more," Anders said, shrugging. "Depends if you can keep up. Shall we get in a bit of practice first?"

Hawke grinned just thinking about it. Thoughts of his father, of the arduous task he needed to fulfill, fled his mind as Anders pulled him toward the bed. He would worry about tomorrow, tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so ends Season One. Expect Season Two to start no later than October 11th. I'm working through some light editing/continuity fixes and trying to play catch up with Season Three after some rather crazy real life things interrupted routine. Thanks everyone who's been reading. Hope to see you in Season Two, where we'll visit some great DAO characters.


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